#including the funny teeth and square glasses

[hydro-city-zone]

I’m gonna start streaming my art sometime in the coming weeks and my friend CupidSonic (twt) is helping me make a June pngtuber since I have tendonitis and I’m so 🥺🥺🥺🥺 about it

(I did the sketches and he’s doing the final images)

[whumpster-fire]

Athanasia Part 1: The Creature In the Cage

Re-posting this story that started out as a Whumptober 2020 entry because I’ve made a few edits and also I have more content for this OC planned so I want to give her a proper re-introduction.

The character featured here is Tansy, currently anonymous because she hasn’t gotten her name yet in-universe. Link to her refsheet here

CONTENT WARNINGS: Monster whumpee, Animal Whump, Animal Cruelty, Animal Death Mention, Mention of predators being predators, Gore, Infected Wounds, Vomit

The cage is much too small for the little creature trapped inside it. Much too small to leave her in it this long, at least. How long has it been? She doesn’t know anymore, but it has been many, many days, and many, many nights. She is not sure she remembers what grass feels like anymore. It is just barely big enough to turn around in, but she cannot sit up without hitting her head on the ceiling, or stretch her tail out. It is far too small to pace back and forth from one end to the other like she could in the last cage. Her legs are weak from lack of use.

The first night she came to the village, she only hunted the rats and mice and other small vermin. She looked longingly into the windows of the houses, wishing she could be in there with the warmth. But the people didn’t want her. They threw her out long ago. It seemed like the family had loved her at first, but then the preacher told them what she was, and they got rid of her. She came back to the old village once, to see if the children had grown, but a plague had swept across the land and everybody had either left or joined the pits of bones.

For a long time she lived out in the woods, in the wild, but there was less of it with every turn of the seasons, and something drew her to the new village, with its cobbled main street and windows of real glass in the houses, and she thought she could live in humanity’s shadow again.

But the people hadn’t changed. Not at all. She lived off the mice and rats for a while, but one day the hunting horns sounded and hooves thundered and hounds bayed. She wasn’t what the men were looking for, but they set the dogs on her all the same, chasing her down and digging out her burrow and tearing and biting until there was nothing but scraps of fur and bone, which they left in a ditch to rot.

The next night the creature came to the village, she left the mice and rats alone. Let them eat the people’s grain and spread disease among them, she thought. If they hated her, hunted her for sport, then  why should she help them? That night, she went to the henhouse, and she came again every night for a fortnight until the dogs caught her. The people hunted her down again, and chased her up a tree. A man brought out a new weapon that hadn’t existed when she first knew the people, an iron tube that exploded with fire and smoke, and knocked her from the tree. They took her back to the village by force, and strung her up on a gamekeeper’s gibbet with the rotting carcasses of the foxes and stoats and all the other creatures they called vermin.

The night after she chewed through the wires binding her, the creature came to the henhouse again. She ate her fill, and then painted the walls with blood. She left the village alone after that. She didn’t want anything to do with the people anymore. But they hunted her, they searched for weeks before they finally caught her. And they must have figured out that there was only one of her, because that was when they put her in the cage.

She has been in the cage for a long time now. She was a curiosity to them at first, but they never loved her. At first it amused them to hurt her, to shoot her or drown her or build a fire under the cage, but now she is only a nuisance. They moved the cage out of the cellar to the barn after her screeching kept them up at night,  and out of there too when she frightened the horses. So they put her in this smaller cage, barely big enough to turn around in. She hangs from a post in the town square, which is really on the edge of the village by the old dirt road leading to other places. The grass is so close, just a man’s height below her, but she can never reach it.

She cannot get out. She cannot get out. The cage is rusty, but the iron bars are thick, and she has broken her teeth and claws trying to gnaw through them. Her paws are always bloody and scabbed from the rough iron under them. She has been out here for so long, with nowhere to hide from the rain and the cold and the heat of the sun.

People used to come by and feed the creature in the cage and give her water, but they have fed her less and less as time went on. It has been many days since anyone has bothered to do it at all. Her body is weak from starvation. Her ribs stick out, and her skin is loose on her bones. Her coat is dull, and the fur is matted with grime: blood, and the rotten fruit and eggs visitors sometimes throw, and the dust and dirt kicked up from the road, and rust from the bars above her, and the many, many times she has been sick in the cage. It falls through the bars of the floor, but they still get dirty, and there is nowhere else to lie.

The people she hates most are the children. The adults have mostly stopped paying attention to her, except when they are drunk, which is admittedly quite often. But the children think it is funny to poke her with sticks through the bars, or rattle her cage around so it sways, or tease her by holding food just out of her reach. The gaps in the bars are just big enough to fit her paws through, and many days ago she clawed angrily at one of the boys and cut his finger. But he dropped the piece of meat he was taunting her with, and he hit her foreleg with a heavy stick before she could get it back through the bars.

That leg is broken now. It was broken so badly the bone came out through the skin, and she is so weak and hungry that it hasn’t healed. Instead, it is slowly rotting. For many days there has been another cage nearby with a man in it, who was convicted of murder and sentenced to die by being hung in the cage and not fed. For a while he was company, and tried to talk to her. But many days ago he died, and the creature in the cage envies him for it. His rotting body has driven most of the people from the square with its stench, but she cannot get away from it. It has brought more company in the form of kites and crows that pick at his flesh. They try to pick at hers too, but their beaks cannot reach through the bars, except for small wounds they have given her. The body has also brought swarms of flies, buzzing and biting and laying eggs in the creature’s wounds, including where her leg is broken. There is no way to escape from the cruel maggots in the tiny cage. But they are the only thing she has eaten for a long, long time.

Today, they took the dead man away. He was little more than bones and dried-out skin anyway. It is not night yet, but the sky is dark. Thunder rolls and lightning flashes. The creature cowers in her cage, her little heart racing. She has always been afraid of lightning, and there is no escape from it. She flinches with every bolt, afraid it will strike the gibbet. No one is outside in the village but her.

Rain pours down, finally washing her fur. She wants to be clean again, but it is so cold, so terribly cruelly cold. There is nowhere in the cage to get away from the driving rain, and she is soaked to the skin. She wants to drink the rain, because she has had no water for days, but she is shivering, so hard her teeth clatter together, and she is afraid she will bite her tongue and it won’t heal. The shivering is taking all her strength. She curls into a sodden ball of fur, whimpering and begging the storm to go away. The howling wind makes the cage sway violently, tossing her around inside it and beating her against the bars. Lightning flashes off the church steeple, so close that her ears ring.

The wind gets worse, and worse. The rain is going sideways now. The cage sways, and the gibbet creaks. Then, suddenly, it gives way. The cage is falling, and she is falling with it. She splays her paws out and braces herself for the landing. But one of her paws goes through the bars in the cage, and it snaps.

She is hurt, she is broken, but so is the cage. The heavy wooden beam of the gibbet has fallen on it and smashed the iron bars open, nearly crushing her. Freedom is so close. She drags herself through the gap which is really too narrow for her, crying out as the jagged edges catch and tear her skin. She collapses onto the ground, but there is no grass under her. There is only the cold, deep mud the heavy rain has turned the dirt road into. She drags herself through the mud for a few paces, but that is all her starved body can manage before her strength fails her. All she can do is keep shivering, and breathing, and holding her head out of the mud and rainwater, but even those will not last long.

The creature waits for death to claim her there in the cold mud. But then, she hears heavy boots splashing in the puddles, slowly getting closer. She looks up, astonished. Someone is out here after all. A figure in a cloak stands over her, sheltering his lantern from the wind. It is dim, but lightning flashes and illuminates a weathered, bearded face lined with confusion, then sympathy. Pity. He reaches down. The creature hisses, and screams, and snaps at his wool glove. What would a human ever do but hurt her?

“What in God’s Green Earth are you?” the traveler wonders aloud. Then: “What in hellfire did they do to you?”

Lightning flashes again. The wind puts out the man’s lantern as he reaches for her again, but his eyes glow with their own yellow light.

Just like hers.

The creature that was in the cage begins to cry, but she doesn’t stop the traveler from picking her up and bundling her into his cloak. She just shivers, and cries against his chest, pressing herself into the first warmth she has known for many, many years.

[todomochi-uwu]

1, 2... and maybe 3 (1/3)

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Kirishima Eijirou; Bakugou Katsuki x reader; Kirishima Eijirou x reader

Warnings: Angst, Poly relationship

Author´s Note: This is the first part of my commission for @beemmmv thank you so much for asking for this, I really hope you enjoy it!!!!!

Bakugou's back was pressed against the dark wood bed heading, his head in between his hands, the trembling of his shoulders wouldn´t seem to stop, his eyes were swollen to the point everything seems just a blur while his mouth failed miserably trying to keep the sobs in. 

Kirishima was on the other side, he didn´t seem to be any better. small drops of blood fell off his lips, his teeth bite them down in anxiety and sorrow, his hands clutched the fabric in his shirt in a desperate attempt to stop the ache in his heart. 

Only one question had managed to take all the oxygen in the room, asphyxiating them, leaving them cornered.

                                                                Where had things gone wrong?

Nothing seemed to add up, no sign, no red flag.

-----------------------------

Going back to when they first years; naive; predictable; no experience at all into what feelings were. They would have never thought that those fist bumps would turn into awkward hand holdings; playful insults would now have a hidden meaning and lingering feelings would insert themselves in the conversation, but before they knew a small peck on the lips in celebration of Bakugou´s new hero license ignited something so big and wonderful it almost felt unreal. 

Everything was great. They made it work.

Kirishima knew how and when to be patient, but also to extern his doubts and thoughts, while Bakugou, although took a while, learned how to manage his insecurities and express his feelings. 

Some things were new, feelings, for example, saying I love you had a new tone to it, hugging and kissing was such an experience, but also some pretty bold statements had been made, they were NOT into girls. 

Funny, considering none of them had even liked someone before or knew what the fuck they were doing. 

Mina had commented along the lines, "Sexuality and points of view will change along we grow, maybe not entirely, maybe just small details, but they will." Might be a crackhead, but she knew what she was talking about. 

But they were sure of themselves.

So... What in the hell had happened?

A bunch of snarky comments and the power of a thunderstorm.  Miya.

The first day she appeared she managed to sweep everyone off their feet, strong looks, determination in her eyes and the scene she had made were enough to declare her place in the room. She stood tall in the ground, small freckles adorn her face along with her rose pink lips, her eyelashes stood long and curvy framing her big brown eyes that were covered behind thick square glasses. 

"Hey, four-eyes you are sitting in my fucking seat. Care to move?" A foot kicking the desk hard enough to make it move and hit the wall. 

She couldn´t be bothered, she got up and went to the back of the classroom, not even sparing a glance to the porcupine looking man.

"The fuck? I'm talking to you, are you as deaf as you are blind, bitch?" Once again, no fucks were given. And that was enough to tick off Bakugou, in a matter of seconds he was up in her face. Truly a mistake. 

"If you don't mind I have better things than to be tacking care of a rabies dog, where´s your caretaker? Shall I fill up a complaint with animal control, because I believe you don´t belong to a classroom but a cage." She pushed her finger against his chest making him back away, not a fraction of fear in her self, she knew his kind, pompous, wannabes who bark much but no bite. "I know who you are Bakugou Katsuki, first and third place in the sports festival, Endeavour´s intern, Ground Zero. Let me tell you something, and you WILL listen, am not here to get yelled or put down by a guy who spits more saliva than he makes sense, make us both a favour and sit down like a good boy and you might receive a treat if you behave. Are we clear?

Complete silence. Midoriya´s jaw was on the floor along with everyone else´s in the room, hell, even Todoroki´s eyes were wide opened and small drops of sweat ran down the right part of his forehead. 

No one knew what to do or how to react until a red spiked hair man decided to include himself in the scene. 

"Oh my god, I am so sorry. Bakugou can be a little bit much to handle, but I assure he doesn´t mean wrong, he's just not good with strangers, please please don´t take it so personally." He grabbed the blonde one by the collar, but he made no effort in detaching himself, still not understanding what just happened. "My name´s Kirishima, welcome to class 3A." And with that, he left the room along with Bakugou; reprimanding him for his actions and stating that he didn´t act manly at all. 

After this, people were a little afraid of approaching her, but soon they found out it was just her standing up for herself, she usually was sweet and considerate, more of a listener rather than a talker, and not a follower. 

Her leadership truly showed when in practice missions she managed to come up with a plan that went accord everyone's needs and strongest points, she took suggestions and comments, people looked up to her. A true icon. 

About her quirk? Thunderstorm. Her ability to invoke a storm at please was amazing and well worked. Her body would lift off the ground and her eyes would turn pearl white, rays ran across her skin, decorating it, her hands sparkled, she looked invincible. 

And two pairs of eyes could notice this.

Kirishima´s eyes always wander to where she stood, he knew it was wrong but the way the dark coloured suit hugged her hips along with the heels she wore it was simply unbelievable, the rhythm she followed while walking; while exercising: while fighting. He was enticed. 

His boyfriend was no different, Bakugou would never admit it, but he would watch from the side every time they had to combat, the way she would frown when calculating was arousing and it was even better when she had her legs tight around Deku´s neck, choking him while pulling his arm, immobilizing him. 

But there were also small things, simple and almost unnoticeable things that made her lovely, the way she small and giggle when Mina kept making lame jokes; the way the tip of her tongue would come out when trying to wing her eyeliner; her baby blue painted nails scratching the back of her shaved blonde hair; or how excited she would get when dripping little drops of pink colourant in the batter for the cupcakes she made. 

Everything amount and made them drop on their knees, their hearts out for her.

Looking on the other side, she wasn´t above feelings. She first noticed the shark-like boy, the way he would cheer up his friends, the words that came out of his heart and the way his smile would light up his entire face. She was confused with what he meant with being "manly" but quickly caught on, it meant being a hero, a good person, and he truly lived up to that. She saw him in the job, she saw him in school and she saw him in his casual state, and she had no doubt, he made her heart flutter. 

With Bakugou things were a little more... Harsh? Bickering, comments back and forth, she would pin him to the ground and he would have her face against the floor. And while he was a dick, she could see through it, she could see his fragileness, but also his determination. The way he would care without saying it, or the small efforts he made trying to tone down his attitude. 

And then. Sad. Tragic. Heartbroken. 

Kirishima and Bakugou were a thing. They had been for a couple of years now. 

"Ugh I can´t believe two of the most decent guys in the class are already taken, that leaves us with stoic Todoroki, pervert Mineta and trembling Deku." Hagakure let out, exasperated. 

"Who are the other two?" Miya giggled, ohh the drama. Boy, she did not expect what was happening next. 

"Bakugou and Kirishima, but I can't even be mad. They are so fucking cute together." 

"Wait, wait. They are together? I thought Kirishima was only just a great friend." She could hear her heartbreak bit by bit, the oxygen running out her lungs and her mouth going dry. 

"No, girl. Two years now. It was a bit of a shock at first but not unexpected, y´know?" 

"Right." And that was the only thing that could come out of her mouth, the two men she loved, the ones who made her skin get goosebumps and sighs leave her mouth. 

-----------------------------

Falling in love was the easy part. Dealing with it? Not so much.

They were unsure and scared, they knew they loved each other, but they also love her. Afraid of hurting each other feelings, they decided it was better to stay quiet. 

Bakugou loves Kirishima and wasn´t ready to lose him.

Kirishima loves Bakugou and wasn´t planning to have him out of his life. 

But it was becoming more and more difficult to hide it, jealousy and longing were now present. 

Suddenly the way Todoroki´s eyes looked at her made Kirishima´s teeth clenched to the point of hurting. Sero´s arm was too close for Bakugou´s liking. Deku´s excitement to see her made Kirishima go way too harm on him at training. And the constant flirting Kaminari did gain him a punch on the eye by Bakugou. 

Things were getting out of my hand. All of it leading to how things were right now.  Communication had been lost, doubts all over the place and the fear filling their hearts.

"Katsuki" Kirishima's broken voice and nasal tone made his partner's heart clench even more, "Could you please tell me what's going on? I am sure I can help if you just let me, you don't have to face this alone."

He decided to stay quiet, Kirishima had been the one and the only person who could see right through him, he could see through the anger, the superiority complex, the hate in his soul, and the idea of breaking the one person he loved, it simply killed him. 

"Baby please, you have to talk to me, I just... I just..." Tears were falling again, sobs coming out not allowing any words to come out. "Bakugou, I just don´t want this to end, not like this, not ever. So I´m begging you, please tell me what's wrong."

And he tried, he did, after a few breaths he managed to calm down a bit, enough to talk at least, "I don´t want to hurt you, Ei."

"I promise you won't, talk to me, babe." He promised his forehead against the door. 

"I think, I think I like someone else." He stayed quiet gathering his thoughts, "I think I like a girl."

Kirishima eyes widened, his heart beating increasing, even more, they were walking on eggshells, "Okay, are you okay with that?"

"I don't know."

"It's normal to be scared baby, but it´s also normal if you like them. I also do."

"You do?" This time Bakugou was left without words, could it be that...?

"Yeah, at least I think so." He remembered the talk he had with Mina earlier that day. 

"I don´t know Mina, I guess I always thought that..."

"Just because Bakugou is your boyfriend doesn´t mean you are gay, Kiri. Sexuality has a pretty big spectrum, doesn´t mean things are either black or white, for all you know you could be bisexual, pansexual or omnisexual; or maybe you just like one girl and she's the exception, we don´t know, all you have to know is that this is okay, you are not wrong, you are not bad. You love Bakugou very much and you will get through this, just talk to him."

"Thank you, Mina"

"Can I... Can I know who you like?" The blonde was hesitant, not sure if he wanted to answer that.

"Okay, but before I want you to know that I love you so much and that this doesn't have to change anything between us, okay?"

"Okay. "

"I like Miya."

Kirishima´s eyes were wide open, relief washing over his entire body and a strange sense of excitement replace it, he had an idea. 

"Hey, Katsuki. Do you know what polyamory means?"

[snowbellewells]

Captain Swan Movie Marathon: “Carolina Moon”

Here is my second submission to the @captainswanmoviemarathon event!! This one is a modern au of the Nora Roberts tv movie (adapted from one of her novels) Carolina Moon. The main female character in the movie is psychic/clairvoyant (I’ll admit, I’m not too sure on the distinction between the two) and I thought her visions and what she goes through in connection to them made a nice real world parallel to Emma’s magic. (There’s also a scene in here where the male lead says something that I could so perfectly see Killian saying to Emma… I just cannot wait to get to that point!)

Anyway, I hope you will enjoy this romantic thriller with some murder mystery elements.  There are some instances of abuse and violence in here though - which I feel like I should mention, since that’s a little darker than my typical style. Most of them are in flashbacks of Emma’s past, or in visions she has of victims, more than in the actual present day plot, still I wanted to make people aware before we got too far.

Please enjoy! (I’d love to hear what you think.)

Chapter One

July 1993

The water at their hideaway always feels so good. She could sink into it until her head slips below the surface and never, ever want to come up for air. It’s cooler, more luxurious than even the rich, satiny sheets on the trundle bed those rare nights she gets to sleep over at Rose’s. Emma Swan’s gangly, 13-year-old limbs slice through the murky water as if the constant humidity and sultry air of Storybrooke, South Carolina can’t penetrate here in their little haven. She knows, of course, logically, that the real world isn’t all that far away. The shaded pond she and Rose discovered two summers ago is just a short trek into the woods at the furthest edge of Rose’s family’s boundless acres. Still, it feels removed enough to bring Emma a sense of peace and contentment she gains nowhere else.

Looking over her shoulder to the large, smooth boulder jutting up out of the pond at the bank where they left their flip flops and cutoff denim shorts, she can see her best friend stretched out with her new book where they had spread their towels on the rock’s surface, just in the wash of warming sunlight that streams through the tree branches overhead. Her friend’s flawlessly creamy pale skin is prone to burning, but at the moment Rose seems willing to take the risk for the benefit of lazing cozily to read as she dries in the sun after taking a quick dip. Shaking her head, Emma plunges back under, happy to stay in the chilly water a bit longer herself. She knew as soon as they’d met outside Rose’s house that afternoon and Rose had held the newest entry in her favorite mystery series in her hand that she wouldn’t be able to resist burrowing into those pages for long.

It’s funny, Emma supposes, but that’s exactly what bonded she and Rose in the first place. They might seem different on the surface, but in the end, neither of them quite fit with everyone else, and so they gravitate to each other, and have ever since Emma first arrived in Storybrooke as an eight-year-old orphan. They’re willing to give each other at least one other person who takes them as they are and with whom they won’t have to pretend. Emma doesn’t care if Rose wants to read quietly and tell her about the stories she’s already finished instead of picking out dresses for the next cotillion class or preening in front of the mirror to practice batting her eyelashes to charm boys or bragging to Emma about which ones she intends to kiss. Her sister Ruby, who shares the same thickly shining, burnished mahogany hair and pretty pink lips but little of her fraternal twin’s calming, gentle personality, does enough of that for the both of them. Their mother, a former debutante and southern belle, delights in the one daughter’s traditional coquettishness, and despairs of the other’s shyness, a true throwback to another time who wants nothing more than to see both daughters marry well and retain their places atop the social ladder. In turn, Rose doesn’t mock Emma for her thick, dark-framed glasses or secondhand clothes, nor does she cringe away from the “fits” that sometimes take hold of her friend, making strange, disturbing scenes Emma can’t understand flash across her mind with such intensity they sometimes knock her off her feet. Emma knows Rose’s mother and sister find her an unsuitable and embarrassing companion for Rose, but she is eternally grateful her friend seems able to see the best in anyone - even a lost girl nobody else wants - and so blithely acts as though she has no idea of the rest of her family’s opinions.

Cringing even while still submerged in the pond’s depths and practically invisible, Emma tries not to think of her unwanted visions. Her strict, hypocritical, and more than a bit deranged foster father claims she’s possessed - and more than once has taken her episodes out on her hide. The man swears he’s beating the devil out of her and putting the fear of God in Satan’s place when he takes the thick leather strap to her shoulders, back and legs until she bleeds, but Emma has already lived long enough in a cruel and unfair world to know that his violence and “discipline” have less to do with parenting and concern for her soul, and more to show for his own twisted mind and overindulgence in the bottle. She wants to hide her spells from him, but when they come on her so abruptly and with such power, they are impossible to miss. She can’t fathom how a person like him was deemed fit to take in and care for a child, but it seems to be her lot, and so she simply grits her teeth and survives.

It’s different when the spells happen around Rose; the slight brunette merely rests a cool, steadying hand on Emma’s forehead or her arm until it passes, helps Emma stand until she feels in control again, listens as she attempts to make sense of whatever she’s seen, and most importantly… believes her. If only she could stay in the huge house Rose’s family calls home. She’d cook, clean, do chores, and stay in the servant’s quarters, Emma isn’t picky. It would still be a far sight safer than the situation she had in the rundown shack with the monster who’d been deemed her caretaker. Barring that, she would honestly rather live wild in these woods and survive off the land. She knew which plants and berries were safe to eat, Graham, her friend and a fellow orphan now happily adopted, had taught her how to fish; it wouldn’t be easy, but she’d get by, and at least no one would lay a hand on her again.

This afternoon, those eerie images she sometimes had seem far away as she splashes up out of the water, trying to arc playfully like a mermaid as she breaks the surface. Drawing in a big gulp of air after staying underwater so long, Emma startles at the sound of teasing laughter, and whirls to see three figures on the bank where she and Rose left their shoes and shorts. 

“Well, look here,” calls out a taunting voice that never fails to set Emma’s nerves on edge. “It’s the baby beached librarian and her drowned rat friend!” none other than Emma’s nemesis Killian Jones crows from his vantage point on dry land.

Rose sits up ramrod straight, book still in hand and annoyed scowl on her face at the quiet of their sanctuary being interrupted. She isn’t genuinely angry, though; for all that she and her sister shared little in common, she and her two years older brother are affectionately close. “Shut up, Killy!” she shoots back, throwing in the childhood nickname they all know he hates. “Who asked you to come looking anyway?”

The boy standing next to Killian speaks up next, making Emma scowl just as playfully as Rose had moments before. Graham Hunter might as well be her big brother; he’s the closest thing she’d had to family since her parents were lost in a car crash and she was thrown into the foster care system. Be that as it may, he and Killian Jones are thick as thieves, and he’ll give her a hard time for all he’s worth in while in the presence of his buddy. “We just wanted to swim,” he calls across the water to the two girls, smirking at Emma, now standing in the water with one hip jutting out and hands planted on her waist. “How were we supposed to know you two were infesting it?”

“Ha!” Emma jeers back, the affront plain in her voice; despite the fact that the entire routine is like a practiced girls-versus-boys exchange they’ve all engaged in countless times. There isn’t much else to do for entertainment in their sleepy little one-horse town. “You idiots know this is Rose and I’s hideaway, fair and square!”

“Well, Rose’s anyway,” a third voice cuts in snidely.

The cruel jab reminds Emma once more that she is just a charity case, quite possibly only included in anything at all because of her friend’s kind heart, and causes her gaze to cut sharply to the third member of the boys’ little crew, hanging back slightly in the shadows behind Killian and Graham as he always does. Her green eyes narrow to slits in genuine dislike and suspicion. Where before her animosity was largely for show, when they land on Walsh Ozman it is all too real.

She has never understood why the other two boys - jokers and annoyances though they may be, but good guys when it comes right down to it - hang out with Walsh at all.  Where Graham and Killian are much more cut from the same cloth - athletic, outgoing, well-liked and pleasant - Walsh is a splindy, sniveling character, complaining and whining whatever their little trio gets up to. He lives not far from Emma’s foster father’s cabin with his single mother - a bushy-haired redhead who seems strangely overprotective and attached to her only child. Most people give the property a wide berth, except when high schoolers teepee it the whole month of October, and the general town consensus is that Zelena Ozman might be a witch and to steer clear. Still, beyond all of that, Emma might have been able to look past the boy’s circumstances and see him for himself - she of all people knew the gift it was not to be judged by where a person came from - if Walsh hadn’t simply given her “the willies”. Even standing too close to him made the fine hairs at the nape of her neck stand on end - and not in the way that nearness to Killian sometimes did; an altogether much more pleasant tingle, even if she was just as unable to explain one as the other.

“We could just take their things,” Walsh suggests, holding up the threadbare, faded jeans Emma had left on the bank. “Make them walk back in their skivvies.” The wicked smile on his face makes Emma’s stomach turn over sickly.

Something sharp flashes in Jones’ eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly and his head giving a subtle shake of dissent that Emma can see even at the distance she stands away from him. Protectiveness, chivalry, or maybe the honor of a southern gentleman passed down to him through generations of his impressive family line, whatever it is, it sparks to life in his eyes at that moment as he quashes Walsh’s mean-spirited suggestion in no uncertain terms. “That’s my little sister you’re talking about Oz,” he growls, smacking the worn material from the smaller’s boy’s hands, even if the article of clothing isn’t Rose’s at all.

Emma feels her breath rush back into her lungs, though she continues to watch the guys warily for whatever they might do or say next. Before long, they grow bored of standing around and move on, hollering out age old taunts of “Bye, losers” and “Hey, smell ya later” to Emma’s derisive snort and Rose completely ignoring them to flip open her book again.

However, even with the intruders gone, it seems as if the perfect comfort of their retreat has been shattered by the unsettling interruption.  Soon, Emma wades to the shore and Rose clambers down from her perch, to dress once more and return to the world outside. For a moment, as she refastens her jeans around her skinny waist, Emma feels a strange prickling along the fine hairs on her arms… like they’re being watched. She jerks around, searching the surrounding trees and brush, but can’t see or hear a thing.

Rose’s small hand takes hers, snapping Emma out of the moment. “What is it?” she whispers, only true caring in her voice. “Did you sense something?”

Emma nods, but can’t give her suspicions voice. Usually her vision are clearer than that - this had just been heavy breathing and like looking at herself and Rose through another person’s eyes, outside her own body.

Rose stooped to grab the little canvas bag she’d bought along with water bottles, towels, and a second book in it. “Hey, don’t worry, okay?” she offers, hopeful and kind as always. “You’ll figure it out. Wanna meet back out here tonight? Secret Sister bonfire?” she winks mischeivously. “I have to get to dinner now. You know how Mama hates it if I’m not washed up and properly attired for the evening meal - or a second late. But we can talk some more then, maybe you’ll remember more and it will be clearer.”

Emma nods gamely. “The stars’ll be beautiful by midnight,” she suggests. “And we’ll definitely have the place all to ourselves.”

“Since we were so rudely interrupted,” Rose chimes in with a giggle and roll of her eyes.

“Shake on it, pinkie swear,” they say together in practiced unison, executing a complex handshake that ends with their pinkies hooked together and wide, matching grins on both their faces.

“Thanks Rose,” Emma whispers sincerely, trying to speak around the lump in her throat as if it’s no big deal. “I’ll be out here as soon as I can sneak away.”

Rose, for her part, wraps her taller, golden-haired friend into a tight, momentary hug. “Hey, we’re Secret Sisters! You can count on me.  I’ll see you then!”

They part ways at the edge of the forest, Emma heading to the rundown cabin that serves as her nightmarish version of a home and Rose to the pristine, Jones mansion standing tall over all the surrounding land. Rose looks back over her shoulder with a smile and wave that bolsters Emma, and the memory fades back into the haze of the past…

Eighteen years later….

September 2011

The blaring of the horn as a sports car whizzed by, barely missing the nose of Emma’s beat-up yellow VW where it had begun to edge out into the country intersection jarred her back to the present with a gasp and painful jolt to her chest. Panting for a moment as she gripped the steering wheel, Emma tried to clear her head and calm the pounding of her heart at the near-miss.

‘Get it together,’ she berated herself. It might have seemed like only yesterday as she remembered that sunny afternoon at the swimming hole, but that day had been nearly two decades ago. She was a grown woman, had made a way for herself, fighting tooth and nail for every step forward, and she answered to no one. She had learned to stand up for herself, to control her visions and use them for good, and was a special consultant for the NYPD. But, more than all of that, she had come back to this place to find peace, to lay to rest the ghosts that followed her everywhere else she’d gone in the years between, once and for all. If she expected other to leave the past in the past, she’d first have to manage it herself.

She’d had no way to know as she and Rose parted that afternoon with promises and plans for later that it would be the last time she would ever see her friend. Emma had harbored the pain and the guilt and the unanswered questions ever since. Finally, it was time to meet the gazes of all of those who’d stared at her in suspicion before she’d been packed up and moved away once more, and it was time she found answers. She wasn’t the scared, whipped, mistreated adolescent she had been at 13. What she had lived through then wasn’t her fault, nor was what had happened to Rose that muggy July midnight. 

And if she had to return to Storybrooke, South Carolina to lay that burden down… well, it was long past time she did.

Tagging: @captainswanmoviemarathon​ @teamhook​ @revanmeetra87​ @lassluna @kmomof4​ @searchingwardrobes​ @jennjenn615​ @hollyethecurious​ @stahlop​ @winterbaby89​ @lfh1226-linda​ @therooksshiningknight​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @artistic-writer​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @tiganasummertree​ @xsajax​ @spartanguard​ @laschatzi​

[seokiloquy]

Patient Growth - Yaku Morinosuke

Soulmate AU: Red String (the string on your finger points in the direction of your soulmate for about 4 inches of length before disappearing, only to make a full string connection when in each others range of sight)

Requested

Tags/Warnings: GN! Reader, time-skip spoilers, short and sweet.

Word Count: 3k+

“(Y/N), why are you doing math? We had it last semester.”

Pulling the protractor away from your pinky, you looked up to Micky’s face, watching as her eyebrow pushed upwards to her sleek hairline. You clicked your tongue, mouth open for a moment as you slid your notebook in her direction.

“Pythagorean theorem. Seriously, what are you doing?”

You raised both hands off your desk in surrender as you tilted your head away from the girl’s questioning stare. “Okay okay, hear me out.”

“That doesn’t exactly give me good faith.”

“So, the red string soulmate pair has mostly died off as of the late century or so right?”

Micky sighed, swinging her leg over the backrest of the chair in front of you, sitting backwards and she crossed her arms over your desk and leaned forward. “And?”

“And, because a lot of people have no need to know about tricks for the red string we were never taught. A lot of people have tattoos nowadays so I get it, don’t teach about every soulmate history, that’s fine.”

“Get on with it.”

“Okay, okay.” You spun your notebook around for Micky to see it straight on. “After some research, I discovered that people used to use the Pythagorean theorem to find the exact location of their soulmate using the angles of the string attached to their hand.”

“Okay cool, so why are you doing this instead of our English essay?”

Clenching your teeth, you looked away from Micky’s brown eyes to the tiled floor of your classroom. “Well, to be fair I have finished the essay.”

“We were assigned it yesterday.”

“I said it was finished, not good. But besides that. I’ve done five separate calculations, but the angles I’m getting don’t change at all, I’m getting a straight line. No triangle, no location.”

Furrowing her brow, Micky leaned back against the desk behind her, large fluffy hair tickling the back of another classmate’s neck, making them giggle. “Oops, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Mickey leaned back toward you, fingertips pulling at her ends. She sighed, “Have you considered that they might be so far away that 100 metres doesn’t give you enough clear information.”

Reaching for the thread that tied to your pinky, you spun it between your fingers, leaning back as you watched the string fade into invisibility mid-air. “I considered it, but that must mean they’re really far, and I didn’t want to admit that to myself.

“Well, hey. You’ll meet your soulmate eventually, everyone does. So for now, how about you focus on yourself and maybe clean up your essay.”

“Ya, ya you’re right.”

Micky sits for a moment, staring into empty space as your pen slowly lowers back down to the unfinished calculations on the paper. Sighing, she lifted her hand and placed it over yours, stopping the scribbling. “(Y/N), stop. You’re not ready to meet your soulmate if you’re searching for them.”

With a furrowed brow, you clicked the pen close and set in on the table. When you looked up to meet Micky’s eyes the yellow lights in the ceiling dimmed around your vision. “What do you mean by that.”

“Seriously (Y/N). if you spend all your time searching for your soulmate, what are you going to do when you finally meet them? Tell them about the length you went to, to hunt them down? Search for someone else?”

“Of course not—”

Your head shot forward slightly at the smack she landed on the back of it. “Then what?” you didn’t even seem  to move. “What do you want to do in the future?”

Picking the pen back up you flipped it between your fingers, spinning it recklessly before it slipped between your digits as they slowly clammed up under the weight of her stare.

“Do you have any clue?” She looked at your notebook before grabbing it from beneath your arms and flipping over a few pages. Slamming it back onto the desk, the sight that met you was one of a completely cluttered page, filled to the brim with words and doodles. “What about this? Art. Writing. You love comics and stories. Why not—”

“It would never last. Starving artists, you know?”

“Get out of that damn mindset. That’s all a hoax, sure it happens, but art and story’s make culture colourful and interesting.”

You sighed, flipping the notebook closed as the beginning of the lunch bell rang. “You say that as if I’d have a giant impact on society.”

“Who says you wouldn’t?”

Russia’s snow was no joke. It made the shorter male shiver to the bone till he managed to get into the building’s lobby. Though, it did persist until he got a hand on the apartment’s doorknob.

Yaku peaked over his model friend’s shoulder, slowly shrugging off his long thick coat before walking back to the coat hangers at the entrance. “You read?” he asked, moving the red string on his finger as it wrapped around one of the hooks. 

Lev’s home, shared with his older sister, was a lived-in picture of modern architecture. The flat white walls and smooth stone countertops matched the square windows and minimalist paintings. The rent hardly put a dent in their wallets. Rich people. 

Despite the money available, no books shelves in the home were used for actual books, just plants and picture frames. This made the sight of Lev holding a bound stack of paper all the more outlandish. He kicked off his shoes, slinging on the available slippers.

“Huh oh, not often. But Alisa heard that this book blew up and was getting translated into a bunch of different languages, Russian and Japanese included. So we got both and we’re sort of jumping in between the versions for practice, you know? Oh, Alisa’s buying groceries, she’ll be back in time to watch the game though. How was practice?”

Yaku paced over to his friend's sleek kitchen and grabbed a glass, filling it with water. “Pretty good. I'm still getting used to the language, but I’ve gotten a better hang of it. What’s the book about?” The shorter man, two glasses in hand, walked over to his friend and offered one.

Lev gave Yaku a large smile and graciously took it, sipping for a moment before setting it on the coffee table. “It’s a mid-century fantasy, filled with magic, monsters, flying trains. No soulmates though, so you don’t know if the main character’s relationship is platonic or romantic. Not that it’s the main focus of the plot. And the Protagonist is this 18-year-old with no magic but somehow has to stop a magic war from happening between two rival empires. It’s really cool.”

Yaku sat in the opposite corner of the couch, chugging his glass back as he watched an animated movie play quietly on the screen in front of them. “Where’s the author from?” he asked, twirling the pinky tied red string around one of his fingers aimlessly.

“Europe? North-America? Don’t recall. But I did hear that they got scouted to work on an upcoming manga with a small group of authors. Apparently, they are great illustrators. Oh did they design the cover of their book? Ugh, let me check.” Lev reached for his phone on the counter as the door opened behind them. 

Alisa, long silver hair tied up into a neat bun, dropped the grocery bags and shook the snow off her head while kicking her coat off. “Lev,” she huffed. “I texted you to help me with the bags. Ah, Mori, you’re here. Good to see you.”

Yaku gave the older model a smile as Lev dropped his phone and rushed to pick up the brim filled bags of food. “Sorry, sorry. I was telling Mori about the books we bought.”

“Don’t worry I managed. Mori, I heard you made it onto the national team, does that mean we’re gonna have to fly into Japan to support you next year?”

Yaku laughed and waved his hand dismissively, “I won’t force you two. But I think the rest of Nekoma would like to see you again.”

Lev let out a loud snort from the kitchen, “We’re going! No doubt about it!” The tall man took a moment to poke his head out, “Oh, Yak— Alisa! You didn’t tell me!”

The childlike anger in his tone made Alisa laugh, turning around to look at her brother head-on. “Tell you what?”

“Your soulmate! Your tattoo is gold now!”

Yaku, from his position, could quickly confirm. The mandala-like flower on the back of Alisa’s neck had gone from a black to a golden shimmer.

Alisa scrambled, quickly pulling her phone close to her chest. With a swipe of her thumb, she brought the phone behind her and pushed and stray hairs up towards her silver bun. The camera clicked.

Yaku raised a thin blond brow. “Do you,” he paused, trying not to chuckle at his friend’s frantic scuffling. “Do you not know who it is?”

“Well, I can’t recall. Nothing was out of the ordinary today.” She tapped her booted toe against the mat before gasping suddenly. Removing the nail she was biting from her mouth, she grunted and pulled her coat back on. 

She began to ramble. “That damn cashier! I finally met him and she’s my soulmate? Stupid, stupid!” She stepped through the front door, turning around to give them a smile. “You boys enjoy the game, okay?”

The door closed with a dull thud and click. Lev, hands hanging like dead fish at sides, stood speechless. For a minute he stared at the closed door, not noticing Yaku’s eyes on him, before asking a sudden question.

“Do you want to meet your soulmate?”

“Hmm? Why do you ask?”

Lev stepped back into the kitchen, grabbing a bag of vegetables, silently beckoning Yaku to follow. Heeding, Yaku followed.

“Well, I don’t mean to sound negative or anything. I really want to meet my soulmate.” He trailed off.

Yaku sighed and grabbed his own item to help put it away in the fancy silver fridge. “Everyone has growing to do, and everyone grows at different paces.” He paused, stifling a sneer at Lev looking down at him with a bewildered gaze. He threw a pack of ships into his stomach. “If you never meet them, it was never meant to happen right? But soulmates are funny like that and always find their way to each other. You just got to be patient.”

Lev tossed the back onto a shelf, making the ships crunch daily when they landed. “Do you think you’ll meet your soulmate? Soon?”

“I’ve done a lot of growing, and I like how things are going. So ya, maybe.” Yaku looked back into the living room and to the book that sat in near perfect condition. “If it’s any constellation Lev, I think you’ve done a lot of growing too.”

He looked at the taller friend, immediately regretting his words slightly. Lev wore a cat-like grin. 

“(L/N), we’re buying tickets to the Olympic games, do you want one?” Udai asked with an excited grin.

“Uh, hold on.” You pulled the glasses from off the top of your head and onto the bridge of your nose. Standing from your brightly lit desk, you walked over to stand behind one of your teammate’s shoulders to squint at their screen. “Volleyball? Oh, right you played didn’t you?”

The long-haired man laughed, making his chair creak as he leaned back. “So did Akaashi. We know some of the players on the team too.”

You sat up straight, brows shooting as close to your hairline as possible. “You know professional volleyball players?”

Udai let out an airy laugh. “Well Akaashi knows them better than I do, but ya.”

Akaashi, the silent editor that sat across the table, looked up at your bewildered face. “You’re a fan of volleyball?”

“Well, it’s not like I know the name of every player, coach, and team, but I enjoy watching sport in general. Udai, put me on the list.”

Walking back to your desk, you silently listened to your co-authors rattle on about the 3rd act of the story as you made clean lines and whether or not the main character should save the secondary one or not. Sighing, you looked at the black pen you held, before setting it down and gently tugging on your little red string. Akaashi rolled his chair over.

“I’m surprised you haven’t met your soulmate yet.”

“Are you? I’m only two years older than you Akaashi.”

“I suppose you’re right, most people just tend to meet their soulmates at the end of high school or into post-secondary. Typically if they’re in close proximity.”

“Well, I did try to figure out where my soulmate was. My friend convinced me to stop and focus on myself,” you sighed, staring at the papers in front of you. “I’m thankful for that, honestly. If I’m not ready to meet my soulmate, at least I have myself right? I’m happy.”

Akaashi’s head tilted, hair shifting under the fluorescent light as he stared at the small gold tattoo on his wrist with a smile. “Ya, you’re right.”

The stadium, inside and out, was loud. Stacks of hundreds of people slowly making their way around the building and milling about, their conversations made it difficult to communicate.

“So you don’t know how your soul mark works exactly?” Udai yelled into your ear.

“Not entirely. Everyone is different, you know? And not many people have the red string nowadays!”

“Ah, right! Makes sense.”

“Everyone, this way!” one of your co-authors called, as akaashi and another author came back, beers in hand.

Following your group, you made your way to the balcony seats to finally sit down instead of standing among tight groups of strangers. You cast a panoramic look over the circular-shaped stadium at the filled seats that hit the vibrant vinyl colours of the chairs.

“Eh! Akaashi! Is that you?”

Two rows ahead, standing tall, and eagerly running your way was a lanky silver-headed man with a big grin. Next to you, Akaashi stood up, and to be polite you stepped out of his way standing in the stairway to look up slightly at the stranger. 

“Ah Lev, been a while.”

Unable to get back to your seat, you stood between the two men patiently.

“You’re here to see everyone right? Oh, who’s this?” Lev asked, turning his head in your direction.

“(L/N), (Y/N). I’m one of Akaashi’s co-workers.”

The man’s thin silver brows pinched together, tilting his head as he inspected your face before suddenly shooting up onto his toes. “You wrote the Rusted Wing series! I love those books!”

“Ah, ya I did.”

“That’s amazing, I-”

A man’s voice called over the speakers, echoing through the stadium. Lev, in an excited rush, insisted on speaking to you later, before running back to his seat where another silver-haired person sat.

Sitting back down, you breathed slowly as the loud conversations around you died and the players made their way onto the court with an uproar of cheers. You smiled, chanting along until Akaashi nudged your arm.

Yaku, completely in his head about the quickly approaching game, kept his eyes on the red jersey in front of him as he walked forward. The music played loudly in his ears and mixed with the messy sound of cheers his head felt like it was floating in a cloud of complete focus on oblivion.

He stood in line, chest rising as he waited for the anthem to begin, but before they did an elbow hit his shoulder. 

Opening his eyes, he immediately caught sight of the once invisible red string making a complete line, arching its way up into the crowd where he saw your face above the strangers in the crowd.

Yaku was in a daze. Completely blown out of the water, all the thoughts in his mind seemed to escape him.

The game seemed to have started without his knowledge, and finished just as quickly. Muscle memory had done its job well. Yaku only noticed what had happened when his head was forced up to see the winning scores on a large screen.

“Fantastic work Yaku, and you didn’t even break a sweat! You were a monster out there! Absolute beast.” The head coach’s expression was one of amazement.

Yaku blinked dumbly. “If I’m being honest, I hardly remember a thing I did out there.”

“Well, you did fantastically. Conscious or not.”

When Yaku looked back to your seat, location freshly printed in his mind, you were gone. 

He followed the team back into the change rooms. Which happened to be when the rest began to point out the quickly moving direction of his thread. One compared its movements to a broken compass. 

Once able to get out of the musty changeroom, Yaku sprinted. The stadium halls were still packed with people. None paid attention to the short man sprinting though. The string had gone still and Yaku eagerly followed it like a trail of breadcrumbs. He knew his fate would be better than the two german siblings because at the end of the trail would be his soulmate and not some cannibalistic witch. He hoped.

The string suddenly shot forward, growing in length. He came to a halt, panting from his sprint; more than he did during the game.

Only a couple metres ahead, head meeting a higher point against Lev’s arm than his own, was his soulmate chatting happily in a circle while maintaining eye contact with his tall friend. The sight made his ears rumble and cheeks burn with embarrassment.

The content smile on your lips when you finally turned his way made all his patience worth it.

I’m getting better at using ‘They’ as a gender-neutral pronoun in writing without making it feel clunky, which I’m happy about.

I hope everyone has been having a nice holiday. - Bacon

Posted: 17/01/2021

[shannygoatgruff]

My Brother’s Keeper - Chapter XVII

Genre: Psychological Thriller

Modern Ivar X Modern Hvitserk

Rating: MA+18 

Overall Warning:  Dark story told from an emotionally distributed person’s POV with graphic and sadistic material including rape, terror, torture, kidnapping, drug use, slash, implied incest, necrophilia, and insecurity. Heavy trigger warnings. 

Chapter Warning: Nervous breakdown. Mentions of a sexual assault, childhood sexual abuse. Violence. Murder. 

Chapter XVII

Grey paint makes this room seem colder than it is. It should be comforting, seeing that it’s my favorite color and all, but something about it that makes my teeth chatter. It feels like it’s the middle of winter in here, but judging from the birds in the tree outside of the sliding glass doors, it looks like a warm spring day. The sky, or what I can see of it, is bright blue and there are only the faintest whispers of clouds overhead. Yet, for some reason, my body aches like it's going to rain. Probably because I’m fucking freezing.

I hate it here and I hate this room, especially. It’s so sterile looking, even with dark wooden framed awards and certificates. Those stupid frames only make the industrial grey walls look more prominent. And this lacquered oak desk is too small for the amount of files and papers on top of it – maybe that was intentional…make it look like more work gets done in here than it actually does. These two oversize forest green chairs are comfortable, but they don’t match a damn thing, certainly not this burgundy rug that everything is just sitting on. Who the fuck decorated this place – a colorblind kindergartner?

What they should have done is used a nice grey lacquered wooden frames to play off the color of the walls, and then decorated with some earth-toned furniture; that would have brought a little warmth to the room. At least, that’s what Ivar would have done. He would have found a way to make it feel like home, no matter how cheap and mismatched the furniture is. He would have had this place looking like a showroom of IKEA in no time.     

The only thing in here I do like is the floor lamp that sits in the corner of the room. I don’t know what it is I like about it; maybe it’s the square, glass lampshade, or the fat textured grey base with the yellow flowers winding around it. Maybe I like it because it hardly gives off any light and I find the soft white glow from it relaxing. I don’t know…whatever it is, I can’t stop staring at it.

"Hvitserk?" Slowly, turning in the direction of the sound of my name, I see a hazy, white face, with yellow, blonde hair directly in front of me, but I can’t make it out. I can’t get my eyes to focus. "You still with me?"

“Hmm.” Nodding slowly, I blink, trying to catch a glimpse of the face as it comes into view before it goes out of focus again. I wonder if I look as crazy as I feel trying to refocus my eyes, right now. Something about that thought makes me smile. "Gert?"

I met Dr. Lagertha, Gert as she keeps reminding me to call her, here about, um…a few days ago, or maybe it’s been months. I can’t really be sure. All I know is I have a full beard, or as much of a beard that I can grow, and my hair is the longest it’s ever been. I guess that means it’s been awhile; the days all seem to run together. 

I think she’s in charge here because she asks so many damn questions. Only people who ask this many questions are in charge of things. Being in charge, you’d think she’d know something, but she doesn��t. No one here seems to know a goddamn thing. They can’t even tell me where here is! All I know is after Thora died, I woke up here. 

There's not much to do here except fucking talk.

I call this place the Drug Store because they keep me high and well rested. If I’m not talking, then I’m sleeping and as soon as I wake up they give me pills. And they have the best fucking pills. It's not like that shit you get on the street. This shit is high end and it doesn't wear off that fast. I don't get sick from it and the best part is, I don't have to pay for them. The only downside is I'm so out of it most of the time that I can't seem to get my head together and figure out how to go home. But, I’ll work that out as soon as I come down this time.

"It seems like you’re still experiencing lucid dreams? I'll see what I can do about adjusting the dosage of your medication." I hear a rhythmic clicking sound and I can only imagine that Gert is typing notes again. She loves to type fucking notes. I think she likes to try to impress me with how fast she can do it or something because she’s always clicking away on that damn tablet of hers. "So, you wanna talk some more?"

With a shrug my head snaps back; it feels too heavy to sit up straight on my shoulders. I have to reposition myself in the chair so that I can rest my elbows on the arm rests to steady myself in my seat, "Not really. 

Gert’s wearing that powdery perfume today. I smell it as she leans forward, "Tell me about your family."

My family? Of all the things we could talk about right now, she wants to talk about my family? There's a short subject. "I don't have a family. Just Ivar.” I have to close my eyes to keep the room from spinning, but even in the darkness of my lashes, swirls of colors still threaten to make me dizzy, "I want to lay down."

Papers start to move followed by a steady tapping on the table. She likes to do that, even though it gives me a headache. Even with my eyes closed, I know she's looking for some way to start the conversation. "It says here that you have brothers? How many?”

I feel my head bob as I try to focus, “Four. Bjorn, Ubbe, me, Sigurd, and Ivar,” my hand won’t cooperate as I try to count them off on my fingers. That brings on another fit of giggles. 

“It seems your mother died when you were young and you were raised by your father?"

That’s not really how that happened, “Brother…he raised us." Not to disrespect Father’s role in anything but he didn't raise me. He put food on the table and clothes on my back, but it's not like he talked to me. Father did a lot of things to me, but talking and nurturing was not among them.

I can hear her typing again, “Which brother was that? The one that raised you?” 

“Bjorn,” Of course she should know that. Everybody knows that he was like a surrogate father to us. He was so much older than us. He had to take on the role when Father and Rollo wouldn’t.

“Where is Bjorn now?”

Leaning my head to rest on my hand, I try my best to focus on her, “Gone.”

“Where?” She sits back in her chair and studies me.

With a shrug, I blink back at her. I don’t know where the fuck Bjorn is and I don’t give a shit, either. I focus on the sliding glass door and wonder what it’s like outside. I want to feel the sun on my face and smell grass, not this recycled air. Or maybe I want to take a nap. I’d rather do anything but talk right now. 

Gert looks at a file, then she lifts her face to me and smiles pleasantly, “Tell me about your brother, Ubbe.”

Scratching my chin, I take in a breath and think. “Um...he’s two years older than me. He was my best friend when we were little. We did everything together. We took care of each other. Every time I fell, he picked me up. See this scar?” I lean my head to the side to expose my jaw to her. I wonder if she can still see it through my beard, “I fell out a tree. I cried. Man, did I cry. But Ubbe picked me up and walked me home. He fixed me up. He loved me. He tried to keep me safe.” As soon as the memory of Ubbe floods into my foggy mind I can feel myself smile.

"Here, drink this." Gert clears her throat and pours water into a paper cup – it’s always paper because they won't give me a glass. “What do you mean tried to keep you safe?” She slides it across the table and her hand drums waiting for me to answer or take the cup. I grab the drink and try to take it. I do, but it's hard to get my hand to my mouth. I have to crouch down in the seat to drink. "Where's Ubbe now?"

Where is Ubbe? Fuck if I can remember. “I’m not sure. We work…I work at his plant, but he doesn't talk to me no more. I don’t ever see him. We haven't talked in years." A chill creeps across the room and it's not from the cool water gliding down my throat. I wish they'd turn on the heat or give me a jacket or something. This room is too cold. 

"Hvitserk," her voice is careful and the hushed tone she's using tells me that she's going to say something that might upset me. I just wish that she would come out and say whatever it is she knows. It's a lot easier hearing the parts I don't remember than when she tries to force the memories from me. They hurt. And I don't mean like the feelings from them hurt me. They physically hurt. The last time I remembered was when she asked me about Thora. When I woke up from talking to Lagertha about her, I had a gash on my forehead. Remembering is painful. "Your file says that Ubbe died when you were nineteen. That's over seven years ago." 

Ubbe died? That's bullshit! He’s not dead, I work for the guy! Ivar calls him when I’m not going to the factory. I know we’re not on the greatest of terms, but if he were dead, I’d fucking know it. Lagertha's full of shit. She likes to lie. She's always trumping up something stupid, something to get a rise out of me. Well, fuck her. I'm not believing that shit, even if she has good drugs. I can find my own shit. "He didn't die. He just doesn't talk to me anymore and that’s Guthrum's fault." I don't talk to him anymore, either. It's funny how the people I need the most in my life all just stop talking to me after a while. "My head hurts.” 

"It's okay. You're in a safe place. You've got to tell yourself that so, you don't go into the darkness. But, if you can't help it, I have pillows on the floor in case you have another seizure." I can feel her hand on mine and she pats it gently. I try to get my eyes to focus on hers but it's no use. I still can't make out her whole face. Right now I can make out about five of them but none of them are clear and her voice is becoming distorted. "Now this is important, Hvitserk. Tell me how Guthrum made you and Ubbe stop talking."

I don't like the way she babies me. It’s not how Ivar does it. When she does it, it makes me feel stupid. I know she wants to know, but doesn't she understand that if I felt safe with her that I'd open up? I always opened up to Ivar and most times all he'd have to do was hold me. “I’m giving you an injection of Sodium Pentothal - that’s what people sometimes call truth serum. It lowers your inhabitants and makes it harder for you to keep from speaking the truth. Do you remember we talked about introducing this into your sessions?”

I nod, even though I don’t know what the fuck she’s talking about. The shot pinches, but it doesn’t hurt. I detect it in my bloodstream as soon as she pulls out the needle. I love the way this stuff feels, but it hurts like a motherfucker when I crash. Plus, I hate the fact that my mouth just starts moving without my permission. "Guthy was my friend – he was the little brother of Ubbe’s girlfriend, Torvi. He used to come to our house all the time, play in our forts in the backyard... He was younger than me, like Sigurd’s age, but he wanted to hang out with me. He was the cutest little thing. He had curly brown hair and deep brown eyes. Ubbe always looked out for us, because he loved me and he knew that I loved Guthy."

As soon as my eyes open I see the woods right behind the back shed. The leaves are golden and they decorate the dying grass. It smells like fall in the air and it's really obvious when the leaves crunch with each step we take. "Ubbe knew how much I loved Guthrum but he told me to stay away from him, 'cause he was just a kid. He said that Guthy wouldn’t understand the way we grew up. Of course, I trusted Ubbe. He always gentle with me. He knew what was best for me even when I didn't. Plus, he got out…he made it. He had a normal life. He was in college – had a girlfriend and everything..." I look over to my left and Guthrum's walking beside me swinging that branch, banging the trunks of the trees while we walk into the woods. I'm not listening to him talk because I'm too busy staring at the look on his face. He makes me blush. And even though I'm smiling, I don't like the way I feel. Something's wrong. "Where's Ivar? You promised you'd tell me where he is."

"Stay focused, Hvitserk. I'll tell you about Ivar later." She always promises we'll talk about him but we never do. We used to talk about him until they found out that he came to check on me. He's tried to take me with him, but they keep me so full of drugs that I'm slow and clumsy and keep getting caught. After the last time, they gave me a new room that was inside of all of these locked doors. They strap me to the bed at night and bolt the door shut. There's even this big guy that stands outside. Now, Ivar can't get in and I can't get out. She won't even let me talk about him.

This is all Lagertha's fault. Always promising me that she'll tell me if he calls or sends a package. I tell her what she wants to know because she promises that she'll get Ivar in to see me. But then she always changes her mind. She's trying to keep me away from him. She's jealous. She doesn't know that he's going to kill her because she's keeping us apart. "Try to calm down. I'll tell you about Ivar, I promise."

"Don't you understand? I need to talk to him now! I don't like it here. I don't like talking about things with you. Ivar doesn't like it when I'm not happy. If you let me see him, I promise I'll keep you safe. I won't let him hurt you." I look down at my finger wondering why it hurts so badly. My hand won't come into focus, but I can see red dripping from the white tip of my finger. I must've pulled my nail off again. This seems to happen a lot when I get uncomfortable and they won't let me see Ivar. "My head hurts. I don't feel well. Please? Just let him come visit me. I'll tell you anything you want to know. Please, just let me see him."

"I'll see about arranging a visit after we talk. But, right now I need to know what happened in the woods behind your dad's house. What happened there that is making you so uncomfortable." I hate that fucking voice she uses. I don't want to talk about this. I want to see Ivar. She better not be lying, cause if she is that's it for her. 

"I don't know." I close my eyes tightly to try to make the image of Guthy and the crunching leaves go away. But when I do, I can feel my fingers touch his hair and how wide his eyes got when I tried to kiss him. "He was so pretty. I just wanted to touch him, but he pushed me. He called me a fag and he pushed me." The ground is cold and hard on my hands as they came up to block my face from hitting it first as I fell to my knees. His soft face is hard and mean; his eyes aren't twinkling like they normally do. He's angry and I feel like shit because it's my fault. "Shut up, Guthrum! I'm not weak!"

I look over to my right and feel the anger fill my body. How dare he call me weak? Just because Ubbe takes care of me doesn't mean that I can't take care of myself. Ubbe doesn’t like to do what we have to do, so he makes sure he’s extra careful. He makes sure I’m okay after. Plus, he helps me when the time goes away because it scares me. Ubbe always makes sure I'm safe - he’s my big brother. He says it’s his job to keep me safe.

"Hvitserk?" Lagertha's voice cuts across Guthrum's angry face and my eyes snap up in her direction. "Do you remember where you are? You're safe. You're here with me." My arms flinch upward as if to lunge at her, but they fall back to the chair because the chains won't reach that far. I focus on her face long enough to see her shake her head at someone else in the room. I suddenly remember where I am and it’s not at my father’s house.

My throat is dry. I need to drink something. “Water,” Coldwater is the only thing that helps to stop the memories. It keeps me awake, makes the drugs feel like they don't have a hold on me. But she won't give me anymore. She wants me to remember. "He dropped the branch on the ground. I got mad and I picked it up. There was a crack in his forehead and blood. Blood on the leaves, blood in his hair, his eyes. It was everywhere." Slowly my heartbeat returns to normal and my dick gets hard. God, he's beautiful. 

"He was just lying there with this deep red blood sticking to his hair, making it look darker. Those sad brown eyes were looking at me. I couldn't stop myself. I just had to know what he felt like." And the calm washes over me as I kiss his cold lips and let my hands roam over his body. "He was my first. I didn't know what I was doing, but he didn't mind. I don't think he'd ever done it before either. He grunted a little and it was awkward, but it didn't hurt too bad. It was beautiful. He kept whispering my name. His lips were cold when I kissed him, but he kept whispering to me. He loved it as much as I did." It is too cold out here. We should be making love inside where it's warm, so his body won't have so many goosebumps and his lips won't turn blue. But I can't stop. He's so sweet and pretty. We need each other and the location doesn't matter. 

"Did Ubbe find you?"

Why does she have to ruin it by talking about Ubbe? She wanted me to remember, well I remember and it's a damn good memory. I finally really lost my virginity, just like Ubbe said it would happen, and it was the best day of my life but she's ruining it. "Ubbe fucked it all up." A pain shoots through my head and all I can see is a blinding white light. My hands are shaking and suddenly I feel the vomit hit my tongue. There's no time to move before it lands on the table and I can't stop. "Ivar…please? I need him," I gasp in between heaves.

But, Gert remains calm. I hate her. "Not until you tell me what happened to your brother." I don't want to talk about my brother. He doesn't talk to me anymore.

"That look. Ubbe always had the clearest, happiest, blue eyes, when he looked at me. But they were wild and they hurt me." Fucking tears. Why am I crying when I know that Ivar won't wipe them? He won't rock me until they stop altogether. I hate her. I hate this fucking place. I want to go home with Ivar. "Please? I don't want this anymore. Please? Just let me go home." Maybe if I beg she'll stop fucking torturing me.

"You're doing so well, Hvitserk. Just tell me about Ubbe."

Stupid bitch. I don't want to answer her but I can't stop myself. "He won't hold me. He won't come near me. He won't even look at me. But, he can damn sure call Guthrum's name and point his finger at me. He said, 'You did this. What the fuck is wrong with you? You did this.' He kept yelling. Father or Uncle Rollo were going to hear him. They couldn’t know…don’t you understand? It was just supposed to be us. No one else was supposed to know and we were never supposed to bring in anybody else. I fucked up. If they found out…it would have been so much worse, for all of us."

There's a splinter in my palm from the branch. Gripping it as tight as I can I swing it just like Ubbe taught me when I tried out for Little League. But, I don't stop. He was supposed to love me. He promised me he would always protect me, but he chose Guthrum. "You keep your damn mouth shut, Ubbe!" I keep hitting him until he doesn't say anything else. His blood is the same color as Guthrum's. It's beautiful. "I don't like red. There's too much red. I don't feel so good, Ubbe. I need help." I crawl over to him and lay my head on his chest. It's so dark and everything is fading but I can still feel his hand touch my hair. "I'm sorry, brother," I whisper before it all goes away. 

I look up from the floor to see Lagertha kneeling beside me. The chair that I'm still handcuffed and shackled to is turned upside down with me under it. My lip is bleeding. Must have bitten it. Remembering with Ivar never hurts like this. "You had your first kill at nineteen. Your friend and your brother. Do you remember that, Hvitserk?"

"What?" I wish my eyes would focus. I wish I could feel her fingers in my hair as opposed to watching her blurry wrist disappear over the top of my head. "I didn't kill Ubbe. He moved out of the house, but he called me every day. He used to send me cards and letters. I left a few months later. We had a long talk about everything and I apologized for hitting him. But, I didn't kill him. But…" From where I'm lying, I can see out of the sliding glass doors. The blue sky and the green grass are heavenly especially since they've been taken away from me. And then something else catches my eye. "Ivar." Trying to scramble to my feet, I glimpse his smile and then he winks at me. He's going to save me from this hell.

"But, what?" Lagertha's voice forces the smile from my face.

"We were never the same. I don’t think he could ever forgive me for what I did to Guthrum, so he chose to stay away,” As long as I keep talking, she won't look at the door. She won't know that Ivar is trying to find a way in. If I keep her distracted, Ivar will save me. I tried to warn her, but she didn't listen. Whatever happens to her won't be my fault.

Lagertha helps me righten the chair and soon I feel my handcuffs being loosened. I don't know why I'm happy about that because I hate this fucking straight jacket more than the handcuffs. The big guard, Paul, leads me over to the couch and stands right by us when Lagertha takes a seat. I guess we can't use the table now that I've thrown up on it. "Hvitserk, it is important that you understand what your experience with Guthrum stemmed from. You and your brothers suffered from severe abuse at the hands of your father, uncle, and oldest brother. What you did to that boy was a learned pattern of sexual behavior.” She places her tablet on the floor and folds her hands in her lap as she speaks, “Part of it was you exploring your sexuality with someone that you felt genuinely attracted to. Another part of it was you acting out what you had been taught, and shown that sex is a violent and aggressive act, to be taken out on someone smaller and more vulnerable than you. Do you understand that?. You mustn’t blame yourself.”

What is this bitch talking about? “There wasn’t anything violent about my time with Guthy. It was amazing. I was careful not to hurt him.”

“Hvitserk, rape, is a violent act,” She considers me, then repositions herself on the chair. “Your file says that you and your brothers were sexually abused. You were forced to take pictures, perform acts on each other as well as with your guardians…you grew up believing that forcing someone to have sex is natural. But it isn’t, Hvitserk. Beating someone within an inch of their life and then having sex with them is not normal, even if that’s what happened to you. It wasn’t right when it was done to you, and it isn’t right when you do it to someone else.”

She has no idea what she’s talking about. I almost feel sorry for Lagertha, right now. No one has ever loved her enough to show her how much they truly want her. That’s okay because when I’ve had my lucid moments, I’ve seen her. Like really seen her and she’s amazing. She’s got it. Whatever that spark is, she has it. Ivar and I could show her what it’s like to be wanted, to be the object of desire. Then she’d know that all this talking she’s doing is just bullshit. 

I look at the glass door and lock eyes with Ivar. I can tell that he knows what I’m thinking because without me having to say anything, his eyes quickly move over to Lagertha. He licks his lips before looking back at me and nods his head slowly. 

“Let’s talk about Ivar,” She says looking up at me.

Shaking my head slowly, I tear my eyes away from the sliding glass door. I lean in and smile, “He doesn’t like it when people know about him,” I whisper.

Fuck Lagertha. She’ll know all about Ivar soon enough.

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[sanderssides-springfling]

Breaking Point (Spring Fling Work)

Synopsis: Sometimes being a light side just does’t cut it. After a particularly aggravating argument, Logan begins… changing. (Logan centric angst fic with guest appearances of most of the others,,,, but mostly Janus).  -Warnings: This is angst so expect negativity/coldness/miscommunications throughout, mild language throughout, some mentions of injury/illness used as metaphors 

For: @madamgarbage

Notes: I had a lot of fun writing this and I just really hope you enjoy it!!! 🖤✨

Logan was not a stranger to emotion. Despite popular belief, he experienced them like any other side. The difference was his ability to tamp them down, keep them from clouding his logic; it was an ability he prided himself on. Sure, sometimes his anger got the better of him when the others were being far too ridiculous. But for the most part, he was clean, calculated, cool. 

Right now, though, his head was pounding. Virgil was shouting hoarsely and Roman was yelling back even louder. Patton just whimpered, trying to get the two to stop fighting but failing miserably as he flinched back from both of their raised voices. Thomas stood in the middle of it all with glazed eyes. 

And Logan, what was he doing? Standing to the side. Being completely useless, it seemed. He pressed his fingers against his temples and tried to massage away the pain. His efforts once again failed and he turned his attention back to the situation. 

Thomas had to choose whether or not to go to a Broadway audition and wanted to consult with his sides to get their opinions on the opportunity. Unfortunately his plan had backfired and now the choice was even less clear. It was a debate, they were trying to make a decision— Logan should have been leading the entire thing. Instead, he had been shoved to the side as Virgil and Roman turned the discussion into a fight.

“It’s too big of a risk! If Thomas fails at this, he may never audition again. Think about how that would hurt Patton. Think about how it could ruin his whole career,” Virgil hissed. 

Roman answered too clearly, over-pronouncing his words as he spat them out like they tasted as bitter as his tone, “You’re suffocating me. You’re keeping Thomas from achieving his dreams. Your worries are simply too much. If anything is going to ruin his career, it’s going to be you.” 

Virgil raised his eyebrows and gave a cold laugh, “Oh, I’m sorry? I thought we agreed it was my job to protect Thomas? So why don’t you just back the hell up and remember your place.” 

“My place? And where exactly would that be?” 

“Safety comes before your stupid fantasies.”

“This isn’t even about safety! This is about you being a coward!” 

The room went quiet. Quiet, not calm. It was like the moments of silent after a lightning strike when everyone holds their breath, waiting for the roar of thunder. Logan needed to interject before things got even worse and this was his best opportunity to do so. 

He cleared his throat, “If you two would like to pause this illogical arguing for a moment, I would like to make a few points.” 

All eyes turned on him. He was nearly taken aback by the amount of anger in both Virgil and Roman’s gazes, suddenly turned on him instead of each other. It burned against his skin as they both glared at him. Patton tried to give him a smile but it was far weaker than usual. Thomas’ eyes were the worst— dazed from all the yelling, confused and torn apart from his aspects disagreeing so violently. Logan felt like he had failed; failed them all, but especially Thomas. It was his job to keep order, to weigh the pros and cons, to unravel problems, to make things clear. And when the others needed him the most, he had let it all fall into the hands’ of chaos. 

“I just think there are better ways to make this decision. You two have been yelling each other for over half an hour and it’s gotten nowhere.” 

“Yeah, because he refuses to admit that he’s wrong!” Roman interrupted. 

Logan gritted his teeth, “Please try to restrain yourself from talking over me.” 

Virgil was the one to break in this time, “Logan, maybe this isn’t the type of argument that you belong in.”

“Not the- not the type of argument I belong in?” Logan could almost laugh, “This is the exact sort of discussion I need to be included in because otherwise we end up in a mess like this!” 

“Logan,” Virgil growled, “I don’t think you’re understanding what’s going on here. This is an issue me and Roman need to settle. No matter what that means.” 

“No matter what that means?? Are you even listening to yourself? That’s the sort of talking that causes disaster!” 

“No, Virgil’s right about one thing,” Logan turned his attention to Roman as he was interrupted once again, “This is between the two of us. Don’t get yourself involved.” 

“If I don’t get involved, you’re going to tear Thomas apart trying to get your ways!” Logan could feel his temper slipping away from him just as his control of the situation was slipping through his fingers. These idiots had their heads so far up their asses, they couldn’t even see the damage they were doing to everyone else. 

“Logan!” Roman snapped his name to get his attention, “Maybe you should just go.” 

He scoffed, “Go? You really think you can solve this problem by yourselves?”

“Go.” 

Logan glanced at the stairwell where Virgil had snarled a singular syllable at him, “Excuse me?”

“He said to go,” Roman was glaring at him, “And, in this case, I agree with him.” 

Logan’s mouth fell open. It was ridiculous. They needed him, but apparently they just couldn’t see it. They needed him, but they didn’t want him. He shook his head. A laugh was rising up his throat but he couldn’t figure out what was so funny. 

He looked around the room, “You really want me to go? Fine then.” 

Thomas and Patton both seemed distressed but said nothing to stop him. Roman and Virgil didn’t have to say anything; the anger boiling behind both of their stares communicated plenty. 

And that was all he needed. Logan sunk out of the room without another word. 

He reached the mindspace in a matter of seconds, appearing in the dining room. The laugh that had been trapped in his throat bubbled over and crashed to the floor as it morphed into a cry. He clapped a hand over his mouth as giggles mixed with sobs and spilled past his fingers, filling the quiet room with hiccuping whimpers. It was just too much for him to wrap his mind around. His beautiful, perfect mind. And somehow they had managed to reduced it to this— a wreck, an absolute mess, emotions crashing into each other and spilling over onto his face so he could do little more than grip the back of a chair until his knuckles were white and he couldn’t even see through the ocean in his eyes. 

His skin felt hot as the tears rolled over his cheekbones and directly onto the floor. He was not a stranger to emotion, but this— whatever the hell “this” was— felt brand new. New like new boots, the type that leave your skin blistered and red and raw. His body was shaking and his stomach turned and he was sure that if he sobbed any harder he might start retching.

He felt so vulnerable; he was a scar that had been scratched at so many times it had finally ripped open and started bleeding again.

Logan was angry. Angrier than he had been in years. He just wanted to help. Why couldn’t they see that? Why wouldn’t they let him help? But more importantly, why couldn’t he help? Was he useless? Was he a tool that had no purpose, tossed aside by the others like a spare screw that didn’t fit anywhere? 

“Logan?” 

His head shot up, back straightening and squaring up in under a second. Janus was standing on the other side of the room like he had frozen in the middle of his movements. His eyebrows were woven together in what seemed like concern. 

“You don’t look ok?” His expression was a painting of confusion. 

Logan rubbed at his eyes from beneath his glasses, “I- I assure you, I’m perfectly fine.” 

Janus just laughed, silky and self-satisfied as always but maybe a little softer than usual, “Lying’s kind of my thing, remember, Logan? You look… great.” 

Logan let his head hang, not even trying to keep up appearances now that Janus had called him out. He glared at the other side from over the rim of his glasses, “Can I help you? Or are you done ridiculing me?” 

Janus took a couple hesitant steps forward, tilting his head to the side like he was absolutely fascinated by Logan. He began speaking slowly but it was obvious from his intense stare that his focus was very far from the words leaving his mouth, “Ridiculing? Oh dear, no, that was not my intention. What’s the matter? Something must be incredibly wrong to have put you in such a state.” 

“What the hell does that mean?” Logan snarled, “Am I not allowed to act as irrationally as the rest of you? Is sanity expected only of me? Maybe I’m tired of it! Do you understand how exhausting it is to carry the weight of responsibility with no one to lend a hand? In fact you all fight against me, pushing me downhill and spiraling Thomas further and further away from stability. Well, maybe I’m tired of it. Maybe I’m so damn tired of yelling until my voice is hoarse, just because I’m trying to look out for the well being of everyone else only to be discounted because ‘it’s not fun’ or because I couldn’t possibly understand, being the cold and unfeeling robot that I am. I am sick of it!” 

“Logan, I’m going to need you to calm down.” 

Logan blinked back into the present.

Janus was standing in front of him, hands raised to hold Logan’s face. Logan was startled to find his cheeks damp once again with tears beneath Janus’ quivering fingers. Janus was staring at him with a combination of fascination and terror. 

“Logan do you know what’s happening?” Janus’ voice shook nearly as hard as his hands as he drew them back to his chest. 

Logan could feel his forehead crease as he stared back at Janus, “What do you mean?” 

Janus laughed but it had lost its honeyed qualities; just a humorless, sharp exhale, “Look around you.” 

He raised his head at Janus’ cue, taking in the room around him. A glass that had left on the table was now broken into pieces. The glass of picture frames hung on the wall now lay shattered on the carpet. Items scattered on shelfs throughout had tipped over or rolled onto the floor. 

Logan’s mouth fell open, “Did I— How— What— Did I do that?” 

Janus nodded his head slowly like he wasn’t sure to believe it either, “The whole mindspace started shaking.” 

“What does this mean?” Logan reached out slowly to pick up a shard of the glass. His hands trembled as he studied the piece, turning it between his fingers as if he could find an answer in its angular edges. 

“Well, sometimes when a dark side is distressed enough, they can negatively affect the environment around them,” Janus had been speaking in slow, almost broken segments as if he had been constructing the sentence word by word, choosing carefully and cautiously. Now, though, he started rushing his words out like they burned his tongue, “You know, like the screaming thing Remus does or when Virgil makes the whole room go dark, that sort of thing.” 

“Wait. Janus, you said ‘dark side.’ And don’t try to lie to me, I have a perfect memory and I know what you said.” 

Janus winced and tried for a smile, “Yes, well…” 

Logan arched one of his eyebrows, “You are aware that I’m not a dark side, yes? And unlike Virgil, I was never once in my existence a dark side.” 

“No, no I know that,” He clasped and unclasped his hands together serval times as if the awkward movement could fill the even more awkward silence, “I’m implying that you might be becoming one?” 

“Oh, please,” Logan scoffed, “Is that even possible? And how have I even done anything to deserve the title of being ‘dark’?” 

Janus mirrored Logan’s raised brow, “Oh, and I’ve earned such a label? The point is, you’re starting to act more and more like us. Whether or not any of us are actually deserve that title is a debate for another day.” 

Logan studied the face in front of him. Janus was a master of deception— of course he was— but in this moment he seemed completely open, completely genuine. And if Janus was being honest… well, that could be a bad thing. 

He opened his mouth to speak but the words were slow to come to his tongue, “So, assuming this hypothetical you’ve proposed, how could this happen? How is such a shift even a possibility?” 

Janus gave another humorless laugh but at least he didn’t sound terrified this time, “I really don’t have the answer to that one.” 

Logan stared done at the floor, eyes roaming the pattern of the carpet but his mind incredibly far away. Was that possible? Could a side go “bad”? More importantly, could he go bad? Was he bad? Had he failed Thomas so much, hurt the others so much, provided so little use yet so much ill-will that— 

“If anyone has the answers, it’s going to be you.” 

Janus’ voice broke through Logan’s thoughts, “What?” 

Janus pulled out two chairs from underneath the table and faced them towards each other. He took a seat in one and pointed at the other, “Something is obviously wrong. Tell me what’s going on.” 

Logan stumbled into the chair, stunned by the commanding note in Janus’ tone. He sat down and stared blankly across at the other side, unsure of where to even start. He pursed his lips for a moment, “Why does it matter?” 

“Because you knocked my favourite mug off of its shelf and I need answers,” Janus rolled his eyes, “If what I think is happening is happening, that’s a huge change that could affect everyone— including Thomas. Now stop avoiding the question.” 

Logan glared down at his hands gripping each other in his lap. His vocabulary had abandoned him. This simply was not a familiar situation to him. He shared facts, advice, outside information; but feelings, his subjective truth? That stayed locked away. 

“Let’s start with why you’re crying, ok?” Janus’ voice was gentle but his question was still very clearly an instruction. 

Logan jerked his head up as he realized there were tears running down his face. Again. He cursed under his breath as he rubbed them away, “I don’t even know. I guess I’m just not used to doing this, this sharing of emotions.” 

Janus nodded, “And why aren’t you with the others? It sounds like there’s quite an argument going on up there. You usually jump right into the fray.” 

“I don’t know,” Logan pinched his nose and tried to ignore the burning ache in his chest. It was strange, the emotion so raw and intense that it had the effect of a physical wound. It was like the tissue of his rib cage was being torn apart, “I tried to join in, to try and add at least a little reason to the discussion… but they refused to listen.” 

“Logan, have they ever listened you about anything?” 

He let his head fall back down to avoid looking at Janus, “Not really. I can’t help but think I’ve failed Thomas.” 

Janus placed his hand on Logan’s shoulder, “No, no that’s not what I meant. I just wanted to know if the others took your advice.” 

Logan raised his gaze to make eye contact with Janus, “Well, sometimes.”

“But do you have to work to get them to even hear you?” 

Logan laughed, “Oh, yeah.” 

“And to they ever listen to you about you? Do they even ask?” 

“Why would they?” Logan paused, “Wait, should they?” 

Janus stared at him like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, pity swimming in his eyes, “I think I see the problem. I think your negative interactions with the others is causing you to turn into a dark side. It’s almost like a defense mechanism or something.” 

“But my interactions with the others haven’t been negative. They can be frustrating, yes, but they’re the closest things to friends that I would ever have. At the very least, they are my companions. Right?”

Janus grimaced, “From what you were saying about ten seconds ago, their treatment of you hasn’t exactly been positive. I’m not say they’re not your friends, just that… maybe they don’t act like it as much as they should. They don’t seem value you or what you have to say.” 

“But I need them to,” Logan spoke slowly, deep in thought, “How else am I supposed to help Thomas, to fulfill my purpose?” 

Janus said nothing and Logan continued he train of thought, “I guess it makes perfect sense for me to do what’s necessary to be heard. I can’t protect Thomas from their violent irrationality if they don’t listen to me. I guess this is just the natural course of action.” 

Janus seemed hesitant as he nodded, “I mean… yes, I guess so.” 

“Besides—,” Logan shrugged, “—maybe being a dark side isn’t so bad.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Logan smirked, “Sometimes you need to raise your voice to be heard; if I need to scare the others a little to cut through the chaos, then so be it. And it seems that I’ve been given the perfect tool to do so.” 

“Logan, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea… ” 

But Janus’ voice was already fading away as Logan rose back into the argument. He had been ignored for the last time. Never again would he be brushed to the side for being the cold outcast. They would listen to him— whether they liked it or not. 

Logan was not a stranger to emotion. And right now, he was smiling. Grinning, in fact— ear to ear, power flickering in his eyes. He was the voice of reason and no longer would he be an accessory to their foolishness. 

[starlightinhumanform]

Breaking Point

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ships: Loceit (could be interpreted as platonic or romantic)

Summary: Sometimes being a light side just does’t cut it. After a particularly aggravating argument, Logan begins… changing. (Logan centric angst fic with guest appearances of most of the others,,,, but mostly Janus).

Warnings: Negativity/Coldness/Miscommunications Throughout, Mild Language Throughout, Some Mentions of Injury/Illness Used as Metaphors

Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

A/N: This was written for the wonderful Spring Fling event here on tumblr! It was so much fun and I can’t wait to participate again! I know I’ve been very inactive lately and I’m very sorry for that (mental illness can be a real kicker lmao), but I’m trying to get back into my groove of writing and posting!! Stay safe and healthy. I love you all 🖤✨

Ao3 Link   Fic Masterpost    Fic Request Info

Logan was not a stranger to emotion. Despite popular belief, he experienced them like any other side. The difference was his ability to tamp them down, keep them from clouding his logic; it was an ability he prided himself on. Sure, sometimes his anger got the better of him when the others were being far too ridiculous. But for the most part, he was clean, calculated, cool.

Right now, though, his head was pounding. Virgil was shouting hoarsely and Roman was yelling back even louder. Patton just whimpered, trying to get the two to stop fighting but failing miserably as he flinched back from both of their raised voices. Thomas stood in the middle of it all with glazed eyes.

And Logan, what was he doing? Standing to the side. Being completely useless, it seemed. He pressed his fingers against his temples and tried to massage away the pain. His efforts once again failed and he turned his attention back to the situation.

Thomas had to choose whether or not to go to a Broadway audition and wanted to consult with his sides to get their opinions on the opportunity. Unfortunately his plan had backfired and now the choice was even less clear. It was a debate, they were trying to make a decision— Logan should have been leading the entire thing. Instead, he had been shoved to the side as Virgil and Roman turned the discussion into a fight.

“It’s too big of a risk! If Thomas fails at this, he may never audition again. Think about how that would hurt Patton. Think about how it could ruin his whole career,” Virgil hissed.

Roman answered too clearly, over-pronouncing his words as he spat them out like they tasted as bitter as his tone, “You’re suffocating me. You’re keeping Thomas from achieving his dreams. Your worries are simply too much. If anything is going to ruin his career, it’s going to be you.”

Virgil raised his eyebrows and gave a cold laugh, “Oh, I’m sorry? I thought we agreed it was my job to protect Thomas? So why don’t you just back the hell up and remember your place.”

“My place? And where exactly would that be?”

“Safety comes before your stupid fantasies.”

“This isn’t even about safety! This is about you being a coward!”

The room went quiet. Quiet, not calm. It was like the moments of silent after a lightning strike when everyone holds their breath, waiting for the roar of thunder. Logan needed to interject before things got even worse and this was his best opportunity to do so.

He cleared his throat, “If you two would like to pause this illogical arguing for a moment, I would like to make a few points.”

All eyes turned on him. He was nearly taken aback by the amount of anger in both Virgil and Roman’s gazes, suddenly turned on him instead of each other. It burned against his skin as they both glared at him. Patton tried to give him a smile but it was far weaker than usual. Thomas’ eyes were the worst— dazed from all the yelling, confused and torn apart from his aspects disagreeing so violently. Logan felt like he had failed; failed them all, but especially Thomas. It was his job to keep order, to weigh the pros and cons, to unravel problems, to make things clear. And when the others needed him the most, he had let it all fall into the hands’ of chaos.

“I just think there are better ways to make this decision. You two have been yelling each other for over half an hour and it’s gotten nowhere.”

“Yeah, because he refuses to admit that he’s wrong!” Roman interrupted.

Logan gritted his teeth, “Please try to restrain yourself from talking over me.”

Virgil was the one to break in this time, “Logan, maybe this isn’t the type of argument that you belong in.”

“Not the- not the type of argument I belong in?” Logan could almost laugh, “This is the exact sort of discussion I need to be included in because otherwise we end up in a mess like this!”

“Logan,” Virgil growled, “I don’t think you’re understanding what’s going on here. This is an issue me and Roman need to settle. No matter what that means.”

“No matter what that means?? Are you even listening to yourself? That’s the sort of talking that causes disaster!”

“No, Virgil’s right about one thing,” Logan turned his attention to Roman as he was interrupted once again, “This is between the two of us. Don’t get yourself involved.”

“If I don’t get involved, you’re going to tear Thomas apart trying to get your ways!” Logan could feel his temper slipping away from him just as his control of the situation was slipping through his fingers. These idiots had their heads so far up their asses, they couldn’t even see the damage they were doing to everyone else.

“Logan!” Roman snapped his name to get his attention, “Maybe you should just go.”

He scoffed, “Go? You really think you can solve this problem by yourselves?”

“Go.”

Logan glanced at the stairwell where Virgil had snarled a singular syllable at him, “Excuse me?”

“He said to go,” Roman was glaring at him, “And, in this case, I agree with him.”

Logan’s mouth fell open. It was ridiculous. They needed him, but apparently they just couldn’t see it. They needed him, but they didn’t want him. He shook his head. A laugh was rising up his throat but he couldn’t figure out what was so funny.

He looked around the room, “You really want me to go? Fine then.”

Thomas and Patton both seemed distressed but said nothing to stop him. Roman and Virgil didn’t have to say anything; the anger boiling behind both of their stares communicated plenty.

And that was all he needed. Logan sunk out of the room without another word.

He reached the mindspace in a matter of seconds, appearing in the dining room. The laugh that had been trapped in his throat bubbled over and crashed to the floor as it morphed into a cry. He clapped a hand over his mouth as giggles mixed with sobs and spilled past his fingers, filling the quiet room with hiccuping whimpers. It was just too much for him to wrap his mind around. His beautiful, perfect mind. And somehow they had managed to reduced it to this— a wreck, an absolute mess, emotions crashing into each other and spilling over onto his face so he could do little more than grip the back of a chair until his knuckles were white and he couldn’t even see through the ocean in his eyes.

His skin felt hot as the tears rolled over his cheekbones and directly onto the floor. He was not a stranger to emotion, but this— whatever the hell “this” was— felt brand new. New like new boots, the type that leave your skin blistered and red and raw. His body was shaking and his stomach turned and he was sure that if he sobbed any harder he might start retching.

He felt so vulnerable; he was a scar that had been scratched at so many times it had finally ripped open and started bleeding again.

Logan was angry. Angrier than he had been in years. He just wanted to help. Why couldn’t they see that? Why wouldn’t they let him help? But more importantly, why couldn’t he help? Was he useless? Was he a tool that had no purpose, tossed aside by the others like a spare screw that didn’t fit anywhere?

“Logan?”

His head shot up, back straightening and squaring up in under a second. Janus was standing on the other side of the room like he had frozen in the middle of his movements. His eyebrows were woven together in what seemed like concern.

“You don’t look ok?” His expression was a painting of confusion.

Logan rubbed at his eyes from beneath his glasses, “I- I assure you, I’m perfectly fine.”

Janus just laughed, silky and self-satisfied as always but maybe a little softer than usual, “Lying’s kind of my thing, remember, Logan? You look... great.”

Logan let his head hang, not even trying to keep up appearances now that Janus had called him out. He glared at the other side from over the rim of his glasses, “Can I help you? Or are you done ridiculing me?”

Janus took a couple hesitant steps forward, tilting his head to the side like he was absolutely fascinated by Logan. He began speaking slowly but it was obvious from his intense stare that his focus was very far from the words leaving his mouth, “Ridiculing? Oh dear, no, that was not my intention. What’s the matter? Something must be incredibly wrong to have put you in such a state.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Logan snarled, “Am I not allowed to act as irrationally as the rest of you? Is sanity expected only of me? Maybe I’m tired of it! Do you understand how exhausting it is to carry the weight of responsibility with no one to lend a hand? In fact you all fight against me, pushing me downhill and spiraling Thomas further and further away from stability. Well, maybe I’m tired of it. Maybe I’m so damn tired of yelling until my voice is hoarse, just because I’m trying to look out for the well being of everyone else only to be discounted because ‘it’s not fun’ or because I couldn’t possibly understand, being the cold and unfeeling robot that I am. I am sick of it!”

“Logan, I’m going to need you to calm down.”

Logan blinked back into the present.

Janus was standing in front of him, hands raised to hold Logan’s face. Logan was startled to find his cheeks damp once again with tears beneath Janus’ quivering fingers. Janus was staring at him with a combination of fascination and terror.

“Logan do you know what’s happening?” Janus’ voice shook nearly as hard as his hands as he drew them back to his chest.

Logan could feel his forehead crease as he stared back at Janus, “What do you mean?”

Janus laughed but it had lost its honeyed qualities; just a humorless, sharp exhale, “Look around you.”

He raised his head at Janus’ cue, taking in the room around him. A glass that had left on the table was now broken into pieces. The glass of picture frames hung on the wall now lay shattered on the carpet. Items scattered on shelfs throughout had tipped over or rolled onto the floor.

Logan’s mouth fell open, “Did I— How— What— Did I do that?”

Janus nodded his head slowly like he wasn’t sure to believe it either, “The whole mindspace started shaking.”

“What does this mean?” Logan reached out slowly to pick up a shard of the glass. His hands trembled as he studied the piece, turning it between his fingers as if he could find an answer in its angular edges.

“Well, sometimes when a dark side is distressed enough, they can negatively affect the environment around them,” Janus had been speaking in slow, almost broken segments as if he had been constructing the sentence word by word, choosing carefully and cautiously. Now, though, he started rushing his words out like they burned his tongue, “You know, like the screaming thing Remus does or when Virgil makes the whole room go dark, that sort of thing.”

“Wait. Janus, you said ‘dark side.’ And don’t try to lie to me, I have a perfect memory and I know what you said.”

Janus winced and tried for a smile, “Yes, well...”

Logan arched one of his eyebrows, “You are aware that I’m not a dark side, yes? And unlike Virgil, I was never once in my existence a dark side.”

“No, no I know that,” He clasped and unclasped his hands together serval times as if the awkward movement could fill the even more awkward silence, “I’m implying that you might be becoming one?”

“Oh, please,” Logan scoffed, “Is that even possible? And how have I even done anything to deserve the title of being ‘dark’?”

Janus mirrored Logan’s raised brow, “Oh, and I’ve earned such a label? The point is, you’re starting to act more and more like us. Whether or not any of us are actually deserve that title is a debate for another day.”

Logan studied the face in front of him. Janus was a master of deception— of course he was— but in this moment he seemed completely open, completely genuine. And if Janus was being honest... well, that could be a bad thing.

He opened his mouth to speak but the words were slow to come to his tongue, “So, assuming this hypothetical you’ve proposed, how could this happen? How is such a shift even a possibility?”

Janus gave another humorless laugh but at least he didn’t sound terrified this time, “I really don’t have the answer to that one.”

Logan stared done at the floor, eyes roaming the pattern of the carpet but his mind incredibly far away. Was that possible? Could a side go “bad”? More importantly, could he go bad? Was he bad? Had he failed Thomas so much, hurt the others so much, provided so little use yet so much ill-will that—

“If anyone has the answers, it’s going to be you.”

Janus’ voice broke through Logan’s thoughts, “What?”

Janus pulled out two chairs from underneath the table and faced them towards each other. He took a seat in one and pointed at the other, “Something is obviously wrong. Tell me what’s going on.”

Logan stumbled into the chair, stunned by the commanding note in Janus’ tone. He sat down and stared blankly across at the other side, unsure of where to even start. He pursed his lips for a moment, “Why does it matter?”

“Because you knocked my favourite mug off of its shelf and I need answers,” Janus rolled his eyes, “If what I think is happening is happening, that’s a huge change that could affect everyone— including Thomas. Now stop avoiding the question.”

Logan glared down at his hands gripping each other in his lap. His vocabulary had abandoned him. This simply was not a familiar situation to him. He shared facts, advice, outside information; but feelings, his subjective truth? That stayed locked away.

“Let’s start with why you’re crying, ok?” Janus’ voice was gentle but his question was still very clearly an instruction.

Logan jerked his head up as he realized there were tears running down his face. Again. He cursed under his breath as he rubbed them away, “I don’t even know. I guess I’m just not used to doing this, this sharing of emotions.”

Janus nodded, “And why aren’t you with the others? It sounds like there’s quite an argument going on up there. You usually jump right into the fray.”

“I don’t know,” Logan pinched his nose and tried to ignore the burning ache in his chest. It was strange, the emotion so raw and intense that it had the effect of a physical wound. It was like the tissue of his rib cage was being torn apart, “I tried to join in, to try and add at least a little reason to the discussion... but they refused to listen.”

“Logan, have they ever listened you about anything?”

He let his head fall back down to avoid looking at Janus, “Not really. I can’t help but think I’ve failed Thomas.”

Janus placed his hand on Logan’s shoulder, “No, no that’s not what I meant. I just wanted to know if the others took your advice.”

Logan raised his gaze to make eye contact with Janus, “Well, sometimes.”

“But do you have to work to get them to even hear you?”

Logan laughed, “Oh, yeah.”

“And to they ever listen to you about you? Do they even ask?”

“Why would they?” Logan paused, “Wait, should they?”

Janus stared at him like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, pity swimming in his eyes, “I think I see the problem. I think your negative interactions with the others is causing you to turn into a dark side. It’s almost like a defense mechanism or something.”

“But my interactions with the others haven’t been negative. They can be frustrating, yes, but they’re the closest things to friends that I would ever have. At the very least, they are my companions. Right?”

Janus grimaced, “From what you were saying about ten seconds ago, their treatment of you hasn’t exactly been positive. I’m not say they’re not your friends, just that... maybe they don’t act like it as much as they should. They don’t seem value you or what you have to say.”

“But I need them to,” Logan spoke slowly, deep in thought, “How else am I supposed to help Thomas, to fulfill my purpose?”

Janus said nothing and Logan continued he train of thought, “I guess it makes perfect sense for me to do what’s necessary to be heard. I can’t protect Thomas from their violent irrationality if they don’t listen to me. I guess this is just the natural course of action.”

Janus seemed hesitant as he nodded, “I mean... yes, I guess so.”

“Besides—,” Logan shrugged, “—maybe being a dark side isn’t so bad.”

“What do you mean?”

Logan smirked, “Sometimes you need to raise your voice to be heard; if I need to scare the others a little to cut through the chaos, then so be it. And it seems that I’ve been given the perfect tool to do so.”

“Logan, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea... ”

But Janus’ voice was already fading away as Logan rose back into the argument. He had been ignored for the last time. Never again would he be brushed to the side for being the cold outcast. They would listen to him— whether they liked it or not.

Logan was not a stranger to emotion. And right now, he was smiling. Grinning, in fact— ear to ear, power flickering in his eyes. He was the voice of reason and no longer would he be an accessory to their foolishness.

If you want to be added to my Sanders Sides fic taglist, just send an ask or reply to this post :p 

~ @phan-fander @abi-beehive @fandomfan315 @cas-is-a-hunter @reggieleigh07 @endless-rain-of-words @vicdehart @im-actually-ok @softnic @catolicabuena @icequeenoriginal ~

[avengerscompound]

That Kid You Knew - 1

That Kid You Knew: An Iron Man Fanfic

Masterlist

Buy me a ☕ @iron-man-bingo Square:  One Night Stand

Warning:  Drug use, Smut (F|M, oral sex, vaginal sex), mentions of unplanned pregnancy

Word Count:  4021

Pairing:  Tony Stark x F!Reader

Summary:  You had grown up knowing Tony Stark but as you’d gotten older you’d lost track of him.  When you see him at a party you have a drug-fueled one-night-stand with him.

10 years later he finds you again and has to come to terms with the fact he’s been a father all the time.

A/N:  This is a remix of an old fic of mine that will hit about 6 of my fills for the @iron-man-bingo, including remix of a fic.  Which is why I’m remixing it in the first place.  If you have read my fic Boy Next Door you’ll recognize this.  The differences will get more obvious as you go on.

Chapter 1

The way the drugs coursed through your system made your pulse race and your mind fuzzy at the edges.  Everything felt so good and looked so good.  You just wanted to touch everything.  As you looked around the room the lights danced on the walls drawing your attention.  It was like being in a dream.

You saw Tony walk into the room.  God, you’d known that man for so long now you couldn’t remember a time pre-Tony.  Your father had worked closely with Howard at Stark Industries, meaning that any company picnic or weekend business meeting, Tony was there with you.  He had been in the same class at school as your oldest brother and had been the same age as your sister.  He’d come to your house after school and pretend to do homework when really he was just taking a break from being a Stark.  You had always gotten on well.  He was a bit of a shit but nice enough.  He’d also always seen you as a kid so that was that.  He was just this kid you had grown up with.

When his dad died you’d been at the funeral.  You hadn’t been surprised that he stepped up as the CEO of the company.  You also hadn’t been surprised that he was still the playboy he had been since he hit puberty.  He’d started drinking young and you sometimes worried it would be the drinking that took him out in the end too.

You hadn’t seen him since the funeral and the past ten years he seemed to be circling the drain.  Stark Industries was still trading well.  He definitely seemed to be inventing the kinds of things the government wanted.  But with all the rumors of women and drugs and gambling on top of the weapons building, you wondered what happened to the Tony Stark you had grown up with.

Only now, you weren’t so sure.  You were surprised he was even here to be honest.  It was just some stupid unofficial high school reunion thing where some people were in town and they had just invited other people who were in town and no one was from the same class or the same age and everyone had thought it would be funny to get a keg and then drugs had been bought and even though you were all supposed to be ‘responsible adults’ you were acting like a bunch of teenagers.  The Tony Stark shouldn’t be at a party like that.  He was big time.  The rest of you were just the rabble.

He seemed so casual though.  He was definitely high.  Shit, so were you, so you couldn’t judge.  He had a suit jacket over a t-shirt with David Bowie on it.  The sunglasses he had on, despite it being dark inside, looked expensive whereas the converse he’d matched with his dress pants were the standard kind you could get for thirty bucks.  It was the Tony you remembered when you were kids, only now he was in his early thirties.

He looked good too.  Fit and well groomed.  You could see exactly what every woman who had ever slept with him must have seen.  There was a charm to him.  A kind of magnetism that drew you in.  You could almost see the threads tugging at you, calling you to him.

You got up off the couch from within the pile of people who were all just snuggled in together watching the lights and you approached him.  The music had a deep bass that traveled up your spine and you couldn’t help but move with it.  You weaved your way through the group gathered around Tony and smiled at him.  “Hey, Tony,” you almost sang in greeting.

“Oh, hey!”  He said warmly, pulling you against him in a tight hug.  He rubbed his cheek against yours.  His beard rubbed against your skin, scratching in that delicious way that sent a tingled through to the back of your head.  You reached up and ran your fingers along his jaw, scratching softly at his beard.  He almost purred as you did.  A deep rumble forming at the back of his throat.  “I haven’t seen you in forever.  How have you been?”

He asked all this against your ear and didn’t pull away when he was finished talking.  He just kept rubbing his face on you and his hands slid over your back.  You hummed and closed your eyes.  When did he get such great hands?  And how did he smell so good?

“I’ve been good.  Work mostly.  Normal stuff.  Not like you.”  You answered, pulling your body up close to his.  He felt hot and you couldn’t stop touching his face.

He laughed.  “No.  I haven’t been doing normal stuff.”

He pulled back and took off his glasses, looking into your eyes with his head tilted.  His pupils were dilated and he smiled.  You licked your lips and he leaned in and kissed you.  It was slow and deep.  His beard tickled your lips as you sucked on his soft bottom lip.  He pulled back, his teeth tugging at your bottom lip.  “Fuck,”  He sighed.  “That felt good.”

Your eyes felt heavy and you nodded.  “You’re good at it.”

He kissed you again.  This time as his lips caressed yours, his hands slid down to your ass and he gripped it.  His tongue slipped into your mouth and you could taste the Scotch he’d been drinking.  You moaned and moved in closer to him, pushing a leg between his.  His hands slipped under your skirt and teased at the elastic of your panties.  You had this far off, distant feeling that that should bother you.  It didn’t bother you.  His hands felt good and you could care less if everyone in the room could see your ass.

He kissed you for so long that the lack of oxygen began to add to the high you were already experiencing.  When he finally broke away, you felt light headed and your lips felt scratchy and slightly numb.

“Shall we go somewhere private?”   He said looking into your eyes.  You felt yourself getting lost in them.  They looked soft and warm but also full of lust.  You ran your thumb along the sharp line of his jaw and he licked his lips.

You nodded and swallowed hard.  Your mouth was dry and you couldn’t tell if that was just the drugs or because you knew what was about to happen.

“Where?”  He asked.

You pulled him upstairs and found an empty guest room.  It took a few tries.  Apparently you and Tony weren’t the only ones to have the idea.

Tony was on you as soon as the door was closed, kissing and pawing at you.  You pulled off each other’s clothes.  There was nothing coordinated or sexy about it.  You both kept stumbling and knocking into each other, until finally, you both fell onto the bed completely naked, except for your socks.

You stroked his dick and the urge to have it in your mouth took you over.  You pushed him back and lapped up the length of his already hard cock.  You traced your tongue over the veins and ridges and he moaned and fisted his hand in your hair as you took him into your mouth.

“Oh, fuck.”  He groaned.  “God, that feels so good.”

You took him deep into the back of your throat and hollowed your cheeks.  He leaked precome over your tongue and you hummed as the salty liquid coated your tastebuds.  There was something about the drugs, or maybe it was just him, but he tasted so good and you loved the way his shaft felt against your tongue.

“Should this be weird?  It doesn’t feel weird, but I feel like it should, don’t you think?”  He murmured.  You looked up at him.  He had his eyes fixed on you, watching as you bobbed up and down on his cock.  You laughed a little and continued to suck.  It doesn’t feel weird to you either, though you could see why it might feel like it should.  You were a little kid when you first met him.  Flicking that switch to say you weren’t might be a little strange even if that had been over twenty years ago.

He started to pant.  You gazed up at him and watched as his abs kept contracting and releasing and his chest rose and fell.  The deep guttural groan he made was pornographic and made your cunt flood.

“Oh, fuck!”  He gasped.  “Stop.  Please.  I want to fuck you.  I bet it feels so good to be deep in your pussy.”

You released his cock and crawled up his body, sliding against him.  “You sound like a bad porn movie.”

“I better fix that.”  He growled and rolled you both over.  “We’ll make it a good porn movie.”

You both started giggling and he brought his lips to yours.  Your pulse raced and your heart felt like it was trying to escape from your chest.  His fingers went to your pussy, finding you soaked and ready for him.  He pulled his hand away and put his fingers in his mouth.  “Fuck.”  He groaned.  He looked down at your pussy and licked his lips.

His fingers returned and he pushed two inside you and curled them, drawing out more of your fluids as he stroked them along your internal walls.  You groaned and pushed up against his hand, whimpering as he removed his fingers and put them in his mouth again and sucked them clean.

He hummed to himself and sat there, looking off into the distance as he sucked his fingers.

“Tony?”   You said, waking him from his reverie.

“Sorry,”  He said with a chuckle, shaking his head like he was trying to snap himself out of it.

He lined his cock against your entrance and sunk in.  You moaned as he gradually filled you.  He started to kiss you, slowly and deeply, his hips rolling against you.  His cock slides in and out of your cunt, creating a pleasant friction.

He pulled back a little and looked down at you as he continued to move.  “You feel that?  How connected we are?  Feels right.”  He murmured.  His voice was deep and gravelly like he’d just been pulled from sleep.  “This is what it should be like.”

You do feel connected to him.  To everything.  Like the world is one big organism and you and Tony were the nucleus.  Tony moved to his knees in one fluid motion and pulled you into his lap, his cock remaining buried deep inside you.

He started kissing you again, but his mouth didn’t remain on yours.  It roamed.  Kissing your throat.  Sucking on your breasts.  You wrapped your legs around his back and leaned back, letting him hold you in place as he thrust up into you.

“Oh, fuck.  Tony.  You feel so good.”  You moaned and began to finger your clit.  Tony dragged his teeth over your nipples.  Your core clenched and you came.  Not hard.  Just a wave of pleasure washing over you and taking you over.  Your cunt pulsed around Tony’s cock and he emptied inside you with a deep, low moan.

You both just stayed like that for a while.  Wrapped around each other.  Your head resting on his shoulder and his pressed into your neck.

Eventually, you slid off his lap and in some unspoken understanding, you both got dressed.  He turned to you before you both left the room.  “Do you have someone to be with when you come down?”  He asked.

“Yeah,”  You said.  “Beth and I talked each other into getting high.  I’m going to crash at her place.”  You said.

Tony nodded and kissed you softly.  “Good.  This was good. It was really nice seeing you.”

“Mom!  Are you home?  Where are you?”  You look up startled from your computer.  The sound of your son’s voice carried through your apartment.  He was home too early and you stood up quickly and went to the door, worried something had happened.

That night with Tony had been 10 years ago.  The high had lasted a week in the end.  You had a whole week of feeling loving and invulnerable and just pleased with the life choices you had been making.  Then you had crashed and it had been a doozy.  You cried for a full day.  Beth had actually slept in your bed that night because she had been worried that you might hurt yourself.  After that, you’d never taken recreational drugs again.  The high was nice, but it wasn’t worth the crash.

The next day, as you started to level out, was when you had realized what had happened.  You had slept with Tony Stark and not used protection at all.  By the time you had that epiphany, it was too late.  You were pregnant.  Pregnant to the kid who had always been around at your house.  The son of the guy your dad worked for.  The guy who was well and truly lost in the playboy lifestyle.  You were sure he wouldn’t give a shit about you, the back or what you wanted.

So you told no one.

You had your baby alone.  You’d stayed in New York because Tony was in LA.  There was no reason to try and avoid him, he didn’t really travel in your circles anymore.  You raised Owen alone and started your new life as a single parent.

It was hard.  Being a single mother was hard.  You did it though.  You were smart and you had an education.  You found a job you loved and was supportive of your situation.  Owen grew and started school.  People would ask you who his father was, but no one had guessed.  Why would they?  Tony Stark was not a part of your life.  He was just some rich guy you had known way back when.  Even though Owen was brilliant and witty and sarcastic.  Even though he was almost a little clone of his father.  Not one person suspected at all.

“Owen?”  You called.

Owen ran down the hall and crashed into you hugging you and then tugging on your hand.  “Oh my god, mom.  You won’t believe it.  We had our science fair today.  And I won.  But guess who the judge was?”

He dragged you into the living room and you stopped dead.  It felt like your heart had stopped.  Or maybe it was time itself.  Tony Stark was standing in your living room holding one of your framed photos in his hand and looking at it.  He looked up at you over the red-lensed sunglasses he was wearing and put it down on the shelf.

“It’s Tony Stark, mom!   He drove me home.  Said he wanted to meet you!”  Owen said.

“Owen!  You just got in a car with a complete stranger?”  You said.  There were so many emotions running through you right now you felt like you were about to vomit.  You couldn’t believe Owen would just get into a car with someone he didn’t know.   The fact that the person was his dad just made the whole matter worse.

“It’s okay.  We spoke to the principle.  I had my security.  It was all cleared.”  Tony said.  “Besides, we’re not strangers, are we?”

Owen looked from you to Tony and then back again.  “You know Tony Stark?”  He asked you.

“Yeah, we knew each other when we were kids,”  Tony answered.

“What!?”  Owen said looking awestruck.  “You never told me that!”

“It’s been a while,”  Tony said.  “About ten years right?”

“What… what… how… why are you here?”  You stuttered.

“You want to maybe have a coffee and catch up?”  Tony asked.

You nodded just once and he comes over to you.  “Owen, get started on your homework please.”

“Aww, mom. I wanted to talk to Mr. Stark.”  Owen complained.

“You can.  Soon.  Just…”  You stuttered.

“Let us catch up first, pal.  I’ll help you with your homework after.”  Tony said.

You followed him into the kitchen.  It felt like there was too much gravity.  That it was pulling you down into the ground.  Every step you took was a struggle.  You step into the kitchen and closed the door behind you.

Tony took the coffee pot off its burner and rinsed it out.  “So.  I was at this science fair.  It was last minute.  They were going to get Bill Nye but he got sick.  I was at the tower and my publicist called me.  It was my old school so I thought, why not?  Would be fun to see the little potato batteries.”

He filled the pot with water and then emptied it into the machine’s tank.  He started looking through your cupboards for filters.  “So I’m going down the aisle and this kid has made an exoskeleton glove that has biometric sensors.  He’s nine-years-old and doing college-level engineering.”

He finally found the filters and set up the coffee pot, going to your freezer and getting out the coffee, and adding in a few spoons.  When he turned the machine on he turned to you and leaned back against the bench.  “So I’m talking to this kid and he tells me he was raised by his mom.  He tells me her name.  And I’m like… I know someone by that name.  Shit.  I had a one night stand with someone by that name.  I have my AI look it up for me.  Low and behold, it’s not some coincidence.  It is you.  You have a son.  Owen.  No father listed on the birth certificate.  So at this point, I’m just trying to stay calm.  I mean, just because we had unprotected sex 10 years ago once, that doesn’t mean anything.  Maybe you did that a lot back then.  I mean, it wasn’t exactly hard to talk you into it.”

“Hypocrite,”  You hissed.

Tony laughed and ran his hand through his hair.  “No judgment.  I’m actually hoping that maybe you did sleep with a bunch of people, to be honest.”  He said, glancing at the kitchen door.  “He’s mine though isn’t he?”

You looked down at your feet and gave a small nod.  “Yes.”

“And what?  You were just never going to tell me?  Are you fucking kidding me right now?”  He kept his voice quiet, but you could tell he was furious.  Pure fury dripped from every single word.

You looked up at him.  He was still as handsome as you remembered him.  You had intentionally been trying to avoid all news about him.  Much to Owen’s annoyance.  He was a science kid and he loved the Avengers.  He wanted to go into the city and look at the monument for the battle of New York.  To have a tour of Avengers Tower.  To see if he could spot his favorite heroes.

His hair was lighter than you remembered and getting a little gray in it.  His eyes were more wrinkled at the corners.  But he still dressed the same and kept his beard as immaculately trimmed.  Cleaning himself up and becoming Iron Man had just made him be the guy he’d meant to be.  It hadn’t changed the core Tony Stark.

You swallowed hard.  “You’re telling me, that that guy back then.  The guy who was high and always drunk.  The guy who slept his way through all the Maxim cover models.  Who was well known for partying and sleeping around.  Who drove his car into someone’s pool.  That guy wouldn’t have just thrown a wad of cash at me and told me to get an abortion?”

He flinched like you’d slapped him in the face.  “What the fuck?  I know we were never really close, but I thought you’d have a little more faith in me than that.”

You shook your head.  “Hey, if I hadn’t gotten pregnant to some guy who was completely off his face.  Some guy who fucked me and left immediately.  I might have thought that too.  But I did.”

He drew himself up straight and strode over to you, leaning in close.  “You were off your face on drugs too, if I remember right.  You fucked me.  And then you left too.  Yet, here you are with a nine-year-old son and all your shit together.  You could have at least given me an option.”  He snarled.

“So what?  What would you have done, Tony?”  You snapped, trying to keep your voice down so that Owen couldn’t hear you.  “Think back to who you were then.  Tony Stark.  Billionaire, playboy.  Different girl every week.  Flying off to sell your weapons or go to parties.  In the paper for something or other, you’d been caught doing every other week.  You get some girl you knew as a kid pregnant in a drugged up one-night-stand.  She somehow gets in contact with you.  Goes to your publicist or something, who the fuck knows.  She says, ‘Hey man, you knocked me up.  I’m keeping it.’  What do you do?”

He leaned back against the bench again and took off his glasses, wiping the lenses on his t-shirt.  As he did he looked at the kitchen door to where your son is doing his homework.  His son.

“I wouldn’t have believed you.  I would have assumed you were like every other chick who has said I got her pregnant and was lying about it.  I would have demanded a DNA test.  When I knew for sure that kid was mine… I would have wanted to be a part of this.”  He growled the last part and for a moment you were actually terrified of him.  “How dare you take that decision away from me?”

You sighed and went to the door looking in at Owen.  He was sitting on the floor at the coffee table.  The TV was on playing some YouTuber he likes while he goes over his homework, filling out the worksheet like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

It had been hard.  Owen had asked who his dad was.  A lot.  You had never really known what to say.  You always just told him that he was a nice man who was not around because he couldn’t be.  He would hate you for lying to him this whole time.

You closed the door and turned back to Tony.  “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry, okay?”  You groaned.  “I was alone and scared.  I didn’t want him to grow up with that life you were living.  I didn’t want to give you the option to reject him either.  That would have been worse.  If I came to you and said, ‘here’s your son’ and you’d told me to fuck off and that you didn’t want anything to do with him.”

Tony put his glasses in his pocket and approached you.  He pushed a stray lock of hair from your face and you looked up into his eyes.  “You’ve done a really good job.  He’s a really smart kid.  And sweet.  His project was amazing and when he spoke about it he was so excited and friendly and funny.  You’ve done a really good job raising him.”

“Thank you.”  You said as tears pricked your eyes.

“So.  Now what?”  He asked.

You took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly.  This was the moment.  This was where all three of your lives could drastically change and the decision you made was going to be whether it was for the better or for the worse.

“Do you want me to introduce you?  I mean… as his dad?”  You asked.

Tony took his glasses back out of his pocket, unfolded them, went to put them back on.  Stopped.  Then folded them up again and put them in his pocket.  “Yes.  If that’s okay.  Shit.  This day took a turn I was not prepared for.”

You took his hand and gave it a squeeze.  “If you need more time.  I can always start preparing him.  I doubt he’s expecting to meet his dad today either.”

Tony looked at you, his eyes soft and a little scared.  “I think it’s been long enough.”  He linked his fingers with yours and you led him back into the living room.

// NEXT

[thorne93]

Unforeseen Chasm (Part 18)

Prompt: Two sisters fall for men that are absolute enemies. The love they have could tear all of them apart, or it could bring them together.

Word Count:3092

Warnings: Language, mentions of stabbing, mentions of manupulation

Note: This is by far the longest thing I’ve ever written (including my novels). It’s a collaboration with the amazing @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​. It started as a funny “What if…?” and it evolved and got huge. This took two years to write. We are both proud and happy and we hope you enjoy it. It follows from Thor 1 to Endgame in the MCU. Some of the timelines may be off in order to fit certain people, and some characters may show up earlier or in different ways than they have in the movie. But for the most part, it follows the MCU. It also has a bit of crossover with some other Marvel characters throughout the story.

Masterlist for Unforeseen Chasm

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you insane? I can’t talk to you if you’re going to be like this,” Tony said as he spoke to Shannon in the conference room. All of the Avengers had gathered there, trying to decide what to do with you two. 

“Look, if they go back to Asgard, they’ll be put to death, most likely,” Shannon reminded, resonating Thor’s words from earlier.

“Maybe that’s what should happen,” Tony said in a small voice, making Shannon flinch. When he saw how his words affected her, he retracted them. “Alright, fine. No death. What do you propose?”

“They stay here on Earth where we can watch them. If they’re in Asgard, Y/N only grows stronger there. She might just regain her strength and come back.”

“Our prisons are inescapable,” Thor informed casually from the side of the room.

Shannon glanced over to him. “Be that as it may, your brother and Y/N are incredibly clever, it’s a risk we can’t take. Putting them back on Asgard only ensures that she will get stronger.”

“So, what, you want to send them to a little BNB here?” Tony asked, frustrated.

“No.”

“Then what? We can’t put them in regular prison. They’ll kill all the guards and inmates just getting out, which won’t be a problem for them.”

“I don’t know where we should put them, Tony, I’m only stating that I think they need to be on Earth.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Nat agreed, piping up.

“Yeah, if keeping them from Asgard keeps them less powerful, I’m all for it,” Clint added. 

Tony looked around the room, realizing this was the way it was going to be. No one wanted you two back on Asgard, and they’d feel better if they could keep a close eye on you here.

------------------------------

Loki and you sat next door in an entirely concrete room while the others argued about where to put you. Neither of you had spoken since the revelation about your willingness to let Tony beat you. 

“What do you think they’ll do with us?” you chanced, hoping to get Loki to speak to you. 

“Oh, you think talking to me will get me to be less angry?” he snapped as he sat on a concrete bench. 

You flinched at his tone. 

“You betrayed me, Y/N. How could you? I took torture for you from that mad Titan, and you, in return, let Stark beat you. Why? Does my life mean that little to you?” he asked, venom in his voice, but pain in his eyes.

Your eyes slid to his face, which was still bloody from the battle and your heart clenched. “Loki, no. I tried… But I wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t look into her eyes and hurt her. I couldn’t hurt him.”

“But you can endanger my life?” he asked, his words dripping with anger.

“Did you let Thor live?” you suddenly asked. 

“What? What in gods’ name does that have to--”

“Thor. You and him went hand to hand. I saw it. What did you stab him with? Oh, yes, the smallest weapon you could conjure up. So do not sit here and pretend to hate me for the same faults you have, Loki. I will not stand for it,” you snapped angrily. “You couldn’t hurt Thor anymore than I could hurt Shannon. Neither of us wants to be here. Neither of us wanted to hurt the ones we loved. Do not make Thanos happy by causing a rift between us. So I couldn’t kill him so what? I promise, if Thanos gets ahold of us, I will take whatever punishment he has in mind for you. I have always been ready to bear the pain of our failures.”

Loki’s features softened slightly at this. He knew he was being hypocritical. He knew this was hard for you. He knew you might not have the stomach to hurt Shannon, or even Tony. You had told him this, and he had simply told you to try your best. 

Before he could respond, the door swung open and you were greeted by nearly all of the Avengers.

“Okay love birds, let’s go,” Tony said as he waved you two forward. They proceeded to put you two in heavy chains. Around your hands, ankles, and neck. You could barely get a good stride in without choking yourself. 

Shannon was with them, but she wouldn’t look at you. 

All of you got into the staircase -- the elevators were too small to hold everyone -- and you descended them for a long time. It started to get a lot colder as you went down. Finally, you reached two wide double doors that slid open as Tony approached them. They walked you two into a large room, seated in the middle was what looked like a stage, almost. 

In the middle of the square concrete room sat a smaller square apartment. Glass walls stood on all four sides and it was elevated off the floor by about three feet. From out here you could see a kitchen, a living room, an office, and apparently a bedroom. The living room had a black leather couch, bright white carpeting, two black leather chairs and a glass coffee table. The kitchen appeared to be more of a kitchenette with charcoal cabinetry, a white granite island, and white tile. The office was a dark room, about 8 x 8 with dark walls. 

Before you could oggle too much, they shoved you forward towards the doors and pushed you two in. Thor unlocked the chains from both of you, and stepped back outside. He hit a button and the door sealed shut, trapping you two inside.

“Welcome to the rest of your lives,” Tony started as he began walking around on the outside, circling you like a caged animal. “Better get comfy. You will not make food requests, you’ll eat whatever I eat that day, unless, food allergies, either of you?” he asked while he pointed at the two of you. “No? Okay then. Moving on. Your air is ventilated. You have plumbing and some books. I might give you TV in a year if you’re good. But no internet. I don’t need either of you out on the web.”

Loki simply glared at Tony while he spoke. You stood there, trying not to feel humiliated in front of old friends. 

“Clean up after yourselves. Oh, and JARVIS can see and hear everything you do. So if we hear anything about ‘escape’, ‘break out’, ‘murder’ -- you know, red flags, he’ll let me know. And if you even think of tampering with any of the technology down here, alarm bells will go off and security will be here before you can say ‘Asgard’. So like I said, get comfy.”

With that, he turned, gave a long look at Shannon, and the rest of them left. Well, all but Steve and Shannon.

“Shannon, you coming?” Steve asked.

“No, not just yet.”

“Well I’m not leaving you alone down here. It isn’t safe.”

“Then wait for me,” she instructed with a slight exasperation in her voice.

“Shannon, please,” you pleaded, walking towards the wall to get closer to her. “You have to find a way to get us out of here. It isn't what you think. Please.”

She laughed while her arms crossed. “You think that's gonna work? That might have worked before, but I am not the same girl you knew. I've changed.”

You face fell as you nodded. “You're right. Clearly you've changed. The Shannon I knew would at least listen to me. Hear my side of things.”

“Tony almost died!” she shouted at you. 

“And who caught him!?” you screamed back. “Whatever you think you know, it isn't right. Maybe you have changed. Maybe you're stronger. Maybe you're smarter. Maybe you're even wise enough to see past my lies or Loki’s tricks. But guess What? You still love blueberries on your pancakes. You still prefer rain at night than in the morning. You still hate too much foam in your coffee.”

Shannon shook her head, tears forming in her eyes. “Stop.. stop it!” she pleaded.

“Why? Because you know I'm right? Because you know I know you better than anyone?”

Her face whipped up to look up at you. “And what did you do with that information? Hmm? You used it. You used it against me. You tricked me. Manipulated me. You stabbed me, multiple times.”

“Not fatally. And you know that. Your time in the Red Room should have clued you in that I purposely didn't hit any major organs or arteries. You know this. Deep down whether you want to believe it or not, you know something isn't right. I let Tony win. I didn't fatally wound you. I could have won our fight easily. How? Projections. It would've been easy to throw you off. But I didn't. And even though you know all this, you still believe me a monster.”

“You are a monster. You brought hell to Earth, straight to our back door. I did ask you why you lost against Tony and you didn't answer me.”

“I lost because I couldn't do it. I couldn't hurt Tony or you any more.”

“Oh yeah that was clear when you threw him out the window and launched a fucking kitchen at me!” 

You clenched your fist. “I didn't kill you. I would never hurt you like that,” you stated through clenched teeth.

“But you came here with the intention to hurt everyone for your and Loki's own sake, you keep saying you wont hurt me but keep doing it anyway,” she said with anger boiling in her eyes, you knew not to keep pushing but you did it anyway. 

You ran your hands through your hair. “Fine! Yes! I hurt you. I threw Tony out the window, I stabbed you, I attacked you. But it’s not like you didn’t return the favor. You stabbed Loki, threw me out of a window -- where I didn’t have a suit to catch me. But I…” You sighed. This was stupid, it was going in circles. “I didn’t kill you. That was never my intention. I was trying to keep you from getting killed. You can believe me or not, I don’t care. Clearly you aren’t going to listen.” You sighed and turned around, crossing your arms, fighting back tears. 

“Do you know how many times I defended you and your actions since you’ve returned?! Tony kept saying my Y/N was dead.” She made you look over. 

“Good! You should be defending me! It means we haven’t lost all hope that your compassion is completely gone!” you said angrily, your voice loud inside the small apartment. Loki sat on the black leather couch in the living room, the room you were standing in, listening on with guilt-ridden ears. It was all his fault you were even in this mess. “It means we have a small hope that you’ll actually listen to us.”

But you didn’t see it that way. You two had to do what you had to to survive, to make sure your loved ones survived. 

“The time to talk, to get me to listen, or ask for any help was before you chained me to a chair and stabbed me,” she darkly informed. 

“Maybe I couldn’t,” you stated. “Did you ever think of that?” 

“Even if it had been that you couldn’t out right say it you would have hinted at what was going on like you used to, or did you completely forget?” She scowled at you. “What happened to our code words? To the signals I taught you? Should have known you’d never used them, what do you expect me to tell my parents? When they see the news of you and me fighting? Did you forget they’re worried about you too or that they love you like their own child?” she spat looking at you with disdain. 

In a quiet, harsh voice, you responded, “I’m not their child. I never was. No one wanted me. I was a charity case. That’s all I ever was. Frigga gave me up, my foster parents never wanted me, and your parents hardly ever wanted me around.” Your eyes drifted to meet hers. 

“That's where you’re wrong. They loved you for who you were. Had you been their daughter they would have kept you with them!” she yelled, making the room shake and making her eyes cloud milky red again the walls began turning foggy. “They wouldn’t have sent you to become an assassin like they did with me, they only began treating me right after they found out what the Red Room Program was. They feared me.” She looked pained saying it. 

You had no idea what to say. You were angry and hurt that she wouldn’t hear anything you had to say. Still she defends you now even from your own hatred. Shoulders drooping you turn to her you see she’s standing like you are but the fog is still around her. 

“Shannon… I…” What? What could you possibly say at this point? Thanos voice was in your head, mocking you, twisting memories in your head. Was Shannon actually ever against you? Or did she want you to succeed? Surely you wouldn’t spend over ten years with someone who made you unhappy. 

Perhaps she was a good friend, deep down, you knew this. But you were too far down the rabbit hole. How do you even begin to explain what happened? 

“What?” she snapped, her voice thick. She was crying. “What can you possibly say to me?” 

“I didn’t do any of this voluntarily,” you finally said, your tone heavy as you stared at her. Loki’s gaze snapped up to you and he stood, ready to stop you from saying more. “I was brainwashed.”

Shannon frowned and stepped forward, curious. “Seriously? That’s your excuse? Brainwashing?” 

You nodded. “A titan, who goes by the name of Thanos… We fell onto the Chitauri planet, he told us if we weren’t of use to him that we needed to be killed. So… Loki bargained for our lives. We would do his bidding so long as he didn’t kill us.” You hung your head and let out a humorless laugh. “Lot of good it did, he still tortured Loki every day, and brainwashed him. He is so much further gone than I am. I at least remember some of my past. Thanos takes your fears, your insecurities and he twists them. He turns them into reality.” You stopped, realizing you were getting off point. “He told us to come to Earth, to rule it. He needed the Tesseract. I don’t know why and I didn’t ask because questions only got Loki hurt.” 

“Why didn’t you fight him?” she demanded. “I know you’re strong enough. Both of you are.”

You laughed again, this time, it was filled with sorrow. “We couldn’t. We were surrounded by his army, and he’s not exactly a normal being.”

“So you just let him bully you? You just let him do this to you? That's…. The most cowardly thing I’ve ever heard,” she stated, disappointment in her voice.

You swallowed and nodded. “You’re right… It is. If it had been you, you would’ve been brave and had the strength to fight. You would’ve stood up, stood against him, and said no. But I didn’t. I’m not strong like you. I never have been.” You stared at her, speaking calmly and matter-of-factly. “He threatened Loki, and I crumbled. Tony gives you strength.” You looked back to Loki who seemed tense as he stared back at you. “But Loki… he’s my weakness. His life was on the line and I said I would do anything to keep him alive, even if it meant hurting you, or nearly killing Tony or you.” 

“All of this was for him?!” She pointed at Loki accusingly. “You’ve only known him for a year, and you basically left the whole universe to perish?” She shook her head, not knowing what else to say. 

You barely shrugged as you looked at her. “Can you really tell me if it was Tony versus the universe, you wouldn’t choose Tony?” you challenged lightly.

 “You know I was trained to pick what's right. I would have picked the universe, no matter what my heart says,.” she said with an unreadable expression. “He already knows if it ever came down to saving us or the world, it's my life to save everyone else,” she said firmly

“It’s easy to say that, when you aren’t actually faced with that choice. I know you, Shannon. I know how much the training is ingrained in you.” You took a step forward and leaned your arm on the glass and got less than an inch away from the glass separating you two. “I also know your heart is a lot bigger, and a lot more than your training. Natasha bargained for Barton. She had the same training you did. And I’m not too sure Tony wouldn’t just choose you over everyone else. It isn’t a fault, Shannon. It’s called humanity.”

“You’re telling me about humanity? Then where was yours when you starting throwing punches? Where was your humanity while half of New York was being destroyed? While innocent people got killed!” She sounded tired at this point from listening to the pointless banter. “Believe what you want, I’m done. With everything.” She waved around the room. “Enjoy your stay because it’ll be a long one.” She began turning away from you and heading to the door where Steve had heard everything. 

You were silent. There wasn’t much left to say. You’d completely lost everything here on Earth, especially the one person who was most important was walking away from you for good. “I’m so sorry, Shannon, I wish things were different…”

“I used to think that too….” She took one final look at you, heartbreak was visible in her eyes. “I hope he was worth it all.” She whispered the last bit. Steve put his arm around her shoulder and held her half walked her out you could see this really had taken a toll on her. 

“Shannon, Shannon, Shannon! No, wait, Shannon!” you screamed after her, slamming your hand on the glass, but she ignored you as she and Steve slipped through the sliding doors, not looking back at you.

You turned around, tears in your eyes, to face your fellow inmate.

“So...It’s just us then,” Loki coolly said, looking at you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Loki: @lostinspace33​​ @ultrarebelheart​​ @lenawiinchester​​ @esoltis280​​ @tngrayson​​ @wangdeasang​​ @harrymewmew @jayfantasyatyourservice​​

[lovely-teeztaetae]

Hello! Can I get ATEEZ and GOT7 written ship? 💖 5’10 tall; dark brown, shoulder-length hair with bangs; blue eyes (the left eye is mixed with hazel, aka, heterochromia iridium); heptagon face shape with dimples; inverted triangle body shape. INFP-T. Bisexual. Pisces-Aries cusp sign. ”Looks like could kill you, but is actually a cinnamon roll.” At first, I may come off as reserved, shy, yet polite. I, as many of us, have a resting bitch face, that’s why people may think that I’m in a bad mood. It takes me a lot of time to warm up to somebody, cause I’m socially awkward. Hate small talk, or speaking in front of the public. When I’m nervous, I tend to mess up my words or forget what I was supposed to say. I’m usually playful, dirty-minded and goofy around close friends. I’m the so-called, ”fashionista and mom” from my circle of friends. A perfectionist, punctual, over-thinker, slight control/clean freak. Stubborn in some situations. If I’m annoyed or getting impatient, I can say something witty or sarcastic. I’m constantly fighting an inner battle with myself, trying to accept myself. I don’t like to smile or laugh in public, cause of the small gap between my front teeth. I really hate taking selfies or somebody else taking pictures of me. The clothes I wear depends on my mood (and the weather outside), but it’s always a mix of smart casual/vintage/or comfortable. Don’t like doing things out of my comfort zone, prefer to stay indoors. Hate crying in public, or asking people for help (it makes me feel uncomfortable). I don’t like arguments, but I will square up if they come for my family or I snapped. I’m a kind-hearted person, always ready to help someone in need, quite modest as well. Used to be a people’s pleaser. My hobbies include listening to any type of music, reading, watching movies or tv shows, traveling (if given the chance), and cleaning. Have a thing for art, especially fashion. Very protective of my family. Divorced parents. Motherly towards kids and friends. An old soul, and the ”black sheep” of my family. A 100% feminist, support LGBT community. Sometimes I like to try and cook easy recipes. Dislike coffee, prefer tea or orange juice. That’s it, - thanks!

Pt 2; GOT7

Hihi my lovely @pataim !

This is my part two to your ship. Your GOT7 version!

I looked more into your INFP mbti, and have decided to pair you with our BELOVED ESTJ

And that is,,,,,,,,,,

♡ BamBam ♡

Our beautiful and funny energizer!

Now, I have looked over both of your guys personalities, and the contrast between you being an introvert and him being a total extrovert, I feel it would make a great relationship. :)

BamBam seems to be into trying many new things, and I feel that your somewhat intimidating persona would interest him, and while everyone else may be a bit scared, he would be an open book with a lot of things ,and would want to get to know about your mysterious personality right away!

You are the goofy and playful one amongst your friends, and BamBam is also our goof and energizer of the seven boys. Your guys chaotic and bold personalities would match. AND although you are an introvert, Bam would make sure that you were comfortable with showing your beauty and personality to the whole world without fear of what others say!

He would try his very best to help you completely accept yourself, and although these insecurities may never go away, he will make sure to let you know that he’ll love you no matter what!

overall, I feel like your guys relationship would be the best friend kind, partners in crime, and you two at the end of the day have an adorable relationship to the public, but BamBam may spice it up by stealing a kiss here and there! 

♡   Partners in Crime   ♡ 

- song ; ‘Collide’ Rachel Platten -

- ( Reason behind song ) -

This song was picked as a representation if you becoming comfortable with BamBam, and letting him know that you trust him. In the end, he will know everything about you, the good and the bad, and he will still love you the same

~ FLUFFYYYYY ~

“Okay, Jinyoung, when BamBam walks through the door, just throw it on him.” I said, looking at him with a childish glint in my eyes.

He looked at me, raising a brow.

“Isn’t this a waste of flour?” He asked holding the flour with one hand, the other hand securely in his pocket.

I rolled my eyes before walking over to him and holding his shoulders.

“Jinyoung, Jinyoung, Jinyoung. How adorable, thinking of this as a waste. If it works, it will definitely be worth it.” I said with a small smile.

“Plus he spilled pancake batter in it last time he tried to cook so..” I trailed off, looking back at Jinyoung who was mentally face palming at the younger ones clumsiness.

All of a sudden I heard the familiar sound of BamBam’s car pulling up and immediately hid behind the corner.

“Jinyoung, get ready okay? Throw the flower right after I throw the water!” I said with an excited smile.

“What is he has his pho-”

“Jinyoung.” I said looking over to my bestfriend again.

Jinyoung only shook his head from side to side, but I instantly smiled as he positioned the flour.

The front door opened and I gave Jinyoung a thumbs up, to which he replied with a small glare.

“Hey eve-”

I suddenly threw the water and soon after Jinyoung threw the flour, but I was in shock after realising it wasn’t BamBam that just walked through the door.

“Yugyeom.” I said coming from around the corner and seeing him with his mouth wide open.

“I just did what I was told to do.” Jinyoung said with somewhat wide eyes, setting the now empty flour bag on the island.

“Everyone! Oh what’s this?” BamBam said walking through the door in his overly fancy attire, pushing his tinted glasses up to his forehead, looking at the younger boy with a small smile.

“I see, you think you’ll be successful at pulling something like this off without my help?” He asked, pinching my cheek playfully and quickly placing a kiss to it afterwards.

“Next time I’ll for sure get you, you little twit.” I joked, getting aggrivated at my failed prank.

BamBam laughed in return, taking some of the wet flour from Yugyeom and wiping it on my sweater.

I looked at him with wide eyes, before running over to Yugyeom.

“Come on Yugyeom, get him!” I said, grabbing another slop from his shirt and running in BamBam’s direction, Yugyeom following behind.

I hope you enjoyed this ship! My other requests are getting worked on right now! 🥰

[camillemontespan]

this heavy crown: part three [drake walker x mc]

Part One 

Part Two

Still some angst (but not as much, though I do love some angst). Some sexy. Some humour? I think? And always draaaaaaamaaaa. 

I’m so pleased people are enjoying this series!  @drakesensworld @jovialyouthmusic @tacohead13 @thequeenofcronuts @be-still-my-aching-heart @pug-bitch @moonlightgem7 @ritachacha @sirbeepsalot @whenyourheartskipsabeat @akrenich (why is this not letting me tag you?!) 

Camille woke up the following morning with a pounding headache. She tried to remember how many shots of tequila she had had and she could only guess it was a lot. She had drank to block out thoughts of Drake and it had worked for the night. Now, she just felt hungover and embarrassed- Liam had not looked impressed when she stumbled in at midnight. Camille groaned when she remembered that he had told her she was hosting brunch this morning. She looked at the clock. 8am. She had three hours to kick the hangover. Grabbing her phone, she texted Hana: 'Need hangover cure ASAP.'

Hana texted back instantly. 'Meet me and Olivia in the spa.' Camille smiled. A relaxing massage and dip in the hot tub was just what she needed. And coffee.

********************

They winced when they saw Camille dragging herself into the spa, dressed in a swimsuit. 'You look like shit,' Olivia said, not pulling any punches. Hana gently elbowed her.

Camille stood before them. 'I forgot I'm hosting brunch. I can't show up looking and feeling like crap.'

Olivia smirked. 'If you do as I say, your hangover will be gone in half an hour. Got it?' Camille nodded.

'Right. First off, get in the hot tub.' Camille grinned and settled herself in. 'Aaah this is loveeeeely.' She dipped her head under the water and came back up for air. Olivia smiled. 'Now, to the plunge pool.'

Camille's eyes widened. 'Wait, what?'

Hana winced. 'Sorry Camille, this isn't going to be a relaxing morning.'

'Camille, get your ass to the plunge pool!' Olivia ordered. Camille jumped out of the hot tub and made her way to the freezing plunge pool. 'Um, I don't want to do this..'

'Don't care.'

'But it's freezing!'

'Do you want to embarrass yourself at brunch? Humiliate Liam? Make the court think you're incapable? Do you?'

'Fine, just stop talking!' Camille shouted before taking a breath and jumping into the plunge pool. The freezing water hit her hard, enveloping her. As she broke back through the surface, she did feel slightly revitalised.

'I feel better already!'

Olivia smirked. 'Good for you. Now repeat that circuit ten times.'

'WHAT?!'

'The hot tub will get your body back to its normal temperature but a jump in the plunge pool will shock you,' Olivia explained. 'Then you'll have five minutes in the sauna to sweat the rest out and finally, you'll end with the plunge pool. This is a tried and tested method, how do you think I always look fabulous after a night of drinking? Hurry up, we don't have all day.'

Half an hour later, Camille snuggled herself up into a fluffy towel. 'Okay, you are evil,' she told Olivia. Olivia shrugged. 'Or an evil genius. How do you feel?' Camille sighed. 'I feel back to normal. You win. You're an evil genius.'

Hana giggled. 'Time for brunch mimosas?' Camille gagged. 'No alcohol for me, thank you.'

**********************

Camille was alone in the dining room at 10.30 as she studied the table for brunch which the servants had decked out in centerpieces of peonies. Trays of pastries and cupcakes were set around the table and a drinks trolley held jugs of fresh orange and glasses of mimosa. She noted the seating arrangement which had been organised. Camille noticed with a sinking heart that Drake had been placed beside Kiara.

'Hey Montespan.' Camille jumped and looked up. It was Drake. Camille gave him a small smile. 'Hey, Walker.'

He looked around the room. 'It's like the room has thrown up peonies.' Camille raised a hand. 'Please don't talk about throwing up. I already did that last night.' Drake raised an eyebrow. 'Are you hungover right now? Not very Queen-like...' He smirked to show he was teasing. She crossed her arms. 'Olivia helped me to get rid of it.'

'Hot tub and plunge pool?'

'How did you know that?!' she cried. Drake chuckled. 'I think everyone has fallen victim to the Olivia Hangover Cure. Myself included. But you look great,' he said. 'Really great..' There was a loaded silence. They both reached each other in a few steps and their lips collided. Drake took in her coconut scent and groaned. 'It feels like forever since I've kissed you.'

Camille smiled against his mouth. 'You kissed me yesterday. All over my body, in fact.'

Drake picked her up against the door and locked it, while still kissing her. 'How long do we have?' he murmured. She nipped at his lower lip with her teeth. '30 minutes.'

He let out a chuckle. 'Plenty of time.' She undid his belt buckle and pushed his jeans down, along with his boxers. He was already so hard for her. He pushed up her pencil skirt as high as it would go and his fingers found the space between her legs. She let out a deep gasp as he worked her. 'How's that feel?' he murmured. She closed her eyes and felt herself getting wetter as he played with her. 'So good, Drake..'

He pushed himself into her and groaned at the feel of her around him. 'Fucking hell, Montespan,' he muttered. His hips moved against hers quickly and she bit into his shoulder to stop herself from crying out. 'I dare you to scream, Montespan,' he said, his eyes darkening. 'Scream my name.'

'People will hear.'

'No they won't. They're always late to these things.' Camille had to agree that he was right. She focused on the feel of him inside her, how big he was and the way he kissed her neck as he pounded his hips against hers. Her body felt numb and as if her feet had pins and needles. She suddenly felt a wave crash over her, making her entire body spasm, and she screamed his name, which finished him off instantly.

When the rest of the attendees entered the room ten minutes later, they found Camille instructing Drake on where to place another vase of peonies, a clipboard in her hand, looking official. 'Oh, I didn't know Drake liked to arrange flowers!' Hana quipped, giving Camille a sly smile.  Camille shrugged. 'He's just such a good helper, aren't you Drake?'

                          ***************************************

Once everyone was sat round the table, Camille stood up to announce the beginning of brunch. King Liam sat next to her at the head of the table and he looked relieved that Camille showed no sign of a hangover.

Drake watched her. He studied the way she blushed when she began to speak, the slight waver to her voice from nerves but then after the clearing of her throat and squaring of her shoulders, she continued in a clear, confident voice. She always amazed him with her ability to put on her public persona. The noble Camille. It was like she could put it on like a coat and could take it off just as easily. As he listened, he suddenly felt something creeping along his thigh. His eyes widened and he looked down to see Kiara had placed her hand right on his crotch. What the fuck? She took a swig of her mimosa and gave him a hard squeeze. Drake pressed his lips together, resisting the urge to call for help.  He squirmed to get away but he didn’t get very far. Her hand stayed locked in place. Fuck. Fuck. 

Drake silently panicked. Camille had stopped speaking now and everyone was helping themselves to cupcakes. Kiara’s fingers started to stroke and Drake’s face reddened. He gripped the edge of the table. He didn’t know what to do. He looked around wildly to find Camille staring at Kiara, her eyes thunderous. 

She knew.

How the hell did Camille know?

Drake swatted Kiara’s hand but she smirked and her hand remained. Camille’s eyes narrowed as she watched. Drake couldn’t work out how Camille knew what was going on under the table. There were five people separating Kiara from Camille and Kiara’s hand was well hidden. 

‘Calmez-vous, Drake,’ Kiara purred under her breath. Drake squirmed again. Suddenly, loud and clear, Camille announced, ‘Can we all take a moment to stand up and recite the Cordonian anthem as a way to celebrate our king?’

Liam chuckled and everyone around them stood up. Drake stood up as quick as he could, followed by Kiara who looked very put out. Drake felt immense relief to still have his manhood intact. Kiara’s grip was strong.  He looked over at Camille, who nodded at him. God, she was clever. They all began to recite the Cordonian anthem before the king gave them permission to mill around the room and leave the table.

                    ******************************************************

Drake cornered Camille as soon as he could. ‘You’re a lifesaver,’ he said. She smiled weakly. ‘It was the first thing I thought of. I had to get her hand off you somehow.’

‘How did you know what she was doing?’

‘Drake, you have this expression. You do it every time you get some surprising attention under a table. I know it because I’ve done it to you myself.’ Drake blushed. Camille smirked. ‘Only difference is you looked like you were in physical pain when Kiara was doing it.’ 

‘She really likes to grab...’

‘Who likes to grab?’ Maxwell asked, coming up to them with Hana. He was holding two different flavours of cupcakes in both hands and taking turns to eat them both. Drake reddened. ‘Um-’

‘Kiara. She was fondling Drake under the table,’ Camille told them casually. Hana let out a laugh and covered her mouth. ‘Sorry Drake, that’s not funny.’

Maxwell’s eyes widened. ‘Kiara?! Serious, quiet Kiara?!’

Camille nodded. ‘That Kiara.’

Maxwell stared at them, his mouth shaped like an O. ‘Kinky Kiara,’ he whispered. ‘Agent Kinky Kiara.’

Drake shushed him. ‘Please don’t call her that, she’ll hear you.’

‘Of course, can’t upset Kinky Kiara.’

Drake flushed and felt Camille squeeze his hand. She looked at him and smiled weakly. Drake smiled and then looked around to see Kiara watching him, a smirk on her face. 

                                 *********************************

After brunch was over, Drake wandered back to his room. He was thinking he might order pizza. Brunch hadn’t filled him in the slightest. 

He let himself into his room and went to find the pizza delivery leaflet. ‘Hi Drake.’

He looked up and nearly jumped out of his skin. 

Kiara was reclining on his bed wearing nothing but lingerie. Black, mesh lingerie with stockings and suspenders. Sky high heels.  Drake backed up against the wall.

‘Kiara?! What are you doing here? Why are you dressed like that?’

She smiled. ‘It’s for you.’

‘But why? How did you get in my room?’

She stood up and glided up to him, swinging her hips. ‘I have my ways,’ she whispered, trailing a finger along his jaw. ‘I thought after brunch you might want to continue..’ Her hand reached out for his belt buckle. Drake stepped away. ‘Kiara, don’t. Please leave.’

She looked up at him under her eyelashes. ‘We might be getting married, Drake. Aren’t you curious to see what I’m like before we make it official?’ She reached up to wrap her arms around his neck but Drake pushed her away gently.

‘Kiara, please stop.’

There was a knock at the door. ‘Drake? You in there?’

It was Camille.

‘Is that Camille?’ Kiara asked. ‘Tell her to go away. You’re busy with more important matters.’ Her hands roamed along his chest. He held onto her wrists, stopping her from going further.

‘Drake, can you let me in? I know you’re here, Maxwell saw you come up.’

‘Um, one second!’ Drake shouted before cursing himself. He should have stayed quiet. She’d have gone away. 

‘Kiara, get in the cupboard,’ he whispered. She frowned. ‘No.’

‘Please.’

She pouted but she obliged. He held open the cupboard door and she let herself in. He shut it and went to answer the door. He was hoping he could just keep Camille outside but she pushed her way into the room. 

‘So I’ve been thinking and I suggest we tell Liam,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m sick of keeping us secret.’

Drake’s eyes widened.  ‘Um, Camille, before you say anything else, please-’

‘I love you. It hurts too much,’ she whispered. 

‘Camille, please stop talking.’

‘Why? Drake, I know you think the same-’

Drake knew she had to stop talking before Kiara heard everything, though he figured Kiara had put a pretty good picture together. With a frustrated sigh, Drake pulled open the cupboard door to reveal Kiara. Camille jumped and her eyes looked Kiara up and down. ‘Kiara? Why are you in Drake’s room? More importantly, why are you in lingerie?!’

Kiara shrugged. ‘Just trying to seduce him.’

Camille reddened. ‘How much did you hear?’

‘All of it.’

Camille paled. Drake closed his eyes. Fuck.

‘Please don’t say anything,’ Camille whispered. Kiara narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re supposed to be married to the King. Not in love with his best friend.’

‘Yes, I’m aware,’ Camille spat. ‘But Liam can’t know.’

‘This is huge. He needs to know. It’s not fair on the King!’

‘Please!’ Drake said. ‘Kiara, please. We aren’t going to hurt Liam. Please don’t tell anyone.’

Kiara bit her lip, conflicted. ‘You will stop the affair?’

Camille nodded. ‘Yes. You can be with Drake, I’ll be with Liam. You won’t be affected.’

Drake’s heart sank at that thought.  Kiara spoke. ‘Fine. I won’t tell. But the affair stops now. I’d quite like to have a husband who is just mine, nobody else’s. No seductresses.’

‘You do know you’re in lingerie trying to seduce Drake right?’ Camille asked dryly. Kiara rolled her eyes. She stepped out of the cupboard and with one last look at Drake, she left the room. 

                ***********************************************************

Camille and Drake let out sighs of relief. ‘Are you sure she won’t tell?’ Drake asked. Camille shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But we have been friendly in the past. I’m just hoping she will remember that.’ 

Drake looked at her. ‘You agreed to stop the affair.’

Camille stared at him, her eyes cold. ‘That girl doesn’t tell me what to do.’

Drake chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. Of course Camille wouldn’t listen to Kiara. She was Camille.  ‘Do you really want to tell Liam about us?’ 

She sighed and wrung out her hands. ‘I do. I can’t keep living like this, Drake. I can’t keep having sex with you in random places- for gods sake, the dining room before brunch! I just want to be with you and only you.’ Her eyes were pleading. ‘I am sick of it. I don’t care if he leaves me. I don’t want the crown. I just want a normal life where I can be with you.’ Drake wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. ‘Camille.. we live in Cordonia at court. We wouldn’t have a normal life. None of this is normal.’

Camille held onto his shirt. ‘What if we left? We could go to New York. Buy an apartment. Live together.’

Drake placed his forehead on hers, stroking her cheek. ‘As amazing as that would be, it’s only a pipe dream. Everyone we know is here. Can you imagine life without Hana? Maxwell? Even Olivia?’

Camille’s voice shook as she answered. ‘I would give it all up just to be with you, Drake. All of it. You matter more to me than everything.’ 

Drake leaned down and gently kissed her. ‘I love you. But we both agreed not to hurt Liam. You agreed to marry him- you could have said no, but you didn’t. That shows how much you didn’t want to hurt him. Do you really want to go back on that?’

Camille shook her head then spoke. ‘But.. you want to be with me too.’

‘I do. I really do. But I can’t tell my best friend that I’ve been sneaking off with his wife. Despite the fact that she is the love of my life.’

‘I’m the love of your life?’ she asked, her eyes wide in shock. Drake’s mouth quirked up into a smile. ‘Is that not obvious?’ 

‘Maybe Liam will understand-’

Drake took her hands and looked into her eyes. ‘Would you be ready to deal with the fall out if we told him? Everything will change. What we choose to do has massive consequences and to be honest, I don’t think we’re ready to deal with that yet.’ His voice was soft, gently breaking the reality to her. Camille nodded, her tears falling. She sniffled and Drake’s heart contracted. He wished he could hold her and tell the future would be fine. That they could be together. But the cold reality they were in was too stark. He couldn’t sell her a future that wouldn’t happen. 

                  ***********************************************

Camille was sat on the terrace with her sunglasses on to hide her red rimmed eyes. She was reading the Cordonia Herald to catch up on what was going on in the kingdom. Liam came out to join her and handed her a glass of white wine. She took it gratefully. ‘Thank you, Liam.’

‘That was a great brunch, Camille,’ he told her, settling into his chair. ‘You did really well. Nice touch with the anthem!’ He flashed her his mega-watt grin and she grinned back. 

‘What’s on the agenda tomorrow?’ she asked.

‘More meetings for me. There will be dancing at tomorrow’s dinner so we better practice our waltz,’ he said. ‘I’ve asked the boutique to set aside some dresses for you to choose from.’

He looked out towards their view. ‘You will choose to dance with me, right?’ 

She frowned and stared at him. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

He reached into his pocket and brought out a piece of paper. Without a word, he placed it on the table in front of her. She reached out to read it. Her face paled under his calm gaze.

Camille is in love with someone else. 

[rainbow-reilly]

Never Trust A Tree With Teeth

By Claire-Louise Reilly [originally posted to r/nosleep]

When I was five and she was six, my sister Emily disappeared.

That was always going to be an awful thing, obviously. But me and Emily? We were close. We shared a room, clothes, toys. We even had a matching pair of bracelets that spelled out "SISTERS 4 EVER" in cheap little plastic blocks. On the first day of school I clung to her and cried, refusing to let her leave without me. The pictures my parents have of that would be cute, if they weren't so painful.

There's lots of little things like that. Mundane memories turned into wounds.

But the worst one was always hide-and-seek.

It was always our favorite game. We played it so much and often we had to start getting inventive with the rules. In our version, the hider could win by getting back to this great big tree in the backyard we'd declared home base before the seeker could catch them.

The day it happened, I was seeker. I leaned up against the tree and counted to twenty, the highest number I knew, and as I closed my eyes I could hear Emily's sneakers skid against the grass as she darted away.

That was the last time I ever saw her.

Oh, I looked everywhere. Under all the beds, in every cupboard, behind the TV—I even dared to check the cluttered, claustrophobic mess that was our crawl space. But I never found her, or heard tell-tale thud of heavy, frantic footfall as she made her mad dash for the tree.

I wasn't worried, though. I was annoyed. Did she think it was funny, to see how long she could go unfound? Maybe for her, but not for me. Fine, I decided. If she was going to change the game, I wasn't going to play. I retreated to the living room to watch TV, never thinking for a moment that anything was wrong. Till Mom called us for dinner.

"Where's Emily?" she asked.

"Hiding," I said, a little too sulky.

"Emily," Mom shouted. "Come out now, it's time to eat. Emily?"

But of course she never appeared.

Irritation quickly turned to panic when we realized even Emily wouldn't be that committed. We turned the house upside down like a tornado. Then came the frantic phone calls and knocking on neighbors doors.

Have you seen Emily?

Has Emily been here?

Do you know where Emily is?

By morning, Emily was officially declared missing.

I wore that same silly bracelet every single day until the frayed thread finally snapped, and a helpless teacher had to comfort an eight-year-old me crying over scattered pieces of plastic on the floor. "We can fix it," she tried to assure me in soothing tones, "All we need is some string." But it wasn't about the bracelet. Not really.

It's that it broke before Em had come home.

I took it home in pieces and poured it into my jewelry box, thinking I'd fix it later. Never did, though. Truth is, I didn't want a dumb bracelet, I wanted my sister back.

It's a funny sort of half-grief, losing someone like that. I had a sister somewhere, but I didn't know if she was alive, or dead, or if I'd ever see her again. But you learn to navigate around it, letting it fill the cracks inside you in strange little ways. I never stayed out too late, never had to be told to call home, was a little more cautious than most kids.

I guess that's why I became the go-to babysitter for my family; trauma made me the "responsible" one. I didn't mind it, really. My aunt would bring over with my cousin Amy, she'd sit herself down with her toys, and I could quietly keep an eye on her from the comfort of the couch.

Amy was the kind of kid whose interests accelerated from apathy to adoration and back again faster than a heartbeat. Every week was some new, exciting hobby to explore. Today, it was nature. She strutted about the backyard with a book on wildlife, collecting "specimens" of leaves and flowers, while I sat on the back porch and scribbled lazily at some homework.

I was in the middle of a particularly peevish math problem when she waddled up, eager to report her latest findings. "My book says you can tell how grown up a tree is by how many rings they have on the inside."

"That's right," I said, in that astonished, slightly patronizing tone you always use with kids. I was more preoccupied with remembering to carry the 1.

"So how grown up are they when they get their teeth?"

I looked up from my workbook. She was gazing up at me with those big, expectant eyes. Should I play along, or correct her? Better to hear it from me than some kid who'd be a lot less nice about it, I supposed. "Amy, sweetie, trees aren't like people. They don't ever get teeth."

"Yes they do! Look!"

She stuck out her hand. In her palm was something small and hard and pale. I picked it up. It was a plastic square that had probably once been sleek and white, now dirtied and ground down with age. On one side there was an indecipherable shape that had been weathered away with time.

It was a block. Just an ordinary block she'd probably scooped up from the dirt somewhere. So why did looking at it make my skin prickle so uncomfortably?

"Amy," I said, while tucking it into my pocket for safe keeping, "Could you show me where you found this?"

She grabbed my hand and led me to the farthest part of the yard, where the old tree loomed over us. She jabbed a short, stubby finger at the bark, so low down I had to crouch to see what she was looking at. Embedded in the wood was a ring of pale white blocks, like a sad, crooked, gap-toothed grin.

I pried one out. It was just as dirtied and ground down as its brother, but I could make out what it said this time:

4.

And suddenly I knew what that prickling feeling was.

I took Amy inside, locked all the doors, and then I bolted upstairs to my bedroom. I tipped my jewelry box onto my dresser, careful not to let the contents spill everywhere, before quickly and crudely arranging them.

S I S T E R S 4 E V E R

Every piece accounted for. Those "teeth" weren't any of mine.

The next thing I knew, I was curled up on the floor calling my mom. I don't remember what I said through the sobs, if it even made sense, but I guess the panic in my voice was enough to make her rush right home.

The police came. My aunt picked Amy up. And somehow I ended up sat on the couch, eyes still red raw, between my parents while a detective spoke to us. He had greying hair and a soft smile set against years of frown lines. Was he the one that had handled Emily's case? I couldn't remember. There were so many grown-ups I didn't know back then.

He looked at me. "Are you sure Emily had her bracelet on her when she disappeared?"

I nodded. We'd never taken off since the day we got them.

He sighed, dragging a hand through his thinning hair. "We found twelve pieces in total, including the two you'd already pulled. We're pretty certain it's a match for Emily's."

My mom let out a shuddering breath and held onto me a little tighter.

"It's unclear yet how it ended up there. The tree shows no signs of being tampered with. With your permission, we'd like to do an autopsy on it, see if we can find out anything more."

This was for Emily. How could we say no?

The detective returned a day later with some workmen. We sat in the living room, making polite-but-strained conversation with him over the chaotic symphony of buzzing tools outside, till we felt the thud of the now-felled tree hitting the ground.

The detective rose, fiddling to smooth out his jacket. "Sorry to take up so much of your time. They shouldn't be too long getting it in the truck—"

There was a rap at the window. A man in overalls was beckoning him outside. Though the glass, we could see the rest of the workmen gathered around the tree, only inches apart, talking in tense whispers.

"Stay there," he told us. We didn't.

The man led the detective to where the tree lay, pointing at something we could't see. And all at once he turned towards us, arms out as if to ward us away. "Please go back inside. I'll be with you shortly, I just need to make a few calls—"

I didn't like his tone. I didn't like his look. I bolted forward before he could corral us further, shoving my way past the workmen until I could see. At the bottom of the trunk, the tree was as hollow as a dead log. But the inside wasn't empty. Inside, wrapped in a tangle of roots and moss and decay, something small and pale was gleaming.

And I knew, then. I knew it wasn't plastic this time, but bones. Her bones.

How many times had I put my hands on that tree, never knowing Emily sat just on the other side?

The police never could tell how she ended up there. Oh, they liked to say it was a hiding spot gone wrong, one she'd crawled into and couldn't get out of again. But I knew that tree had never been hollow. She would have had to dig down deep into the earth and crawl among the roots to ever find that empty space and coil her way inside, and I would have found her long before then.

But that's the sensible explanation, the convenient one. And we all pretend her bracelet didn't grow out the bark like a hungry, monstrous mouth.

I still watch Amy, sometimes. Don't let her play outside, though. I know it's terrible, keeping a kid cooped up like that. But when I look out the window and see the empty space where a great big tree once sat, I think of all the other trees out there and wonder how many more are hiding teeth of their own.

[empressofrizalia]

Mahou Sensei MSPA-tan! Chapter 2: The Kids of Class 413

[Cross posted on AO3.  Also, an important note:  Alterra Academy standard uniforms are in the popular preppy style most private schools on Earth have. Tops consist of a long sleeve white button-down shirt and a black blazer with the school logo on the left chest side. Troll students have their signs parallel to the logo on the other side. Ties come in candy red for human students while troll students have theirs in whatever blood color they have. Bottoms are either deep grey skirts for girls, or trousers for boys. Socks must be either white or black with tasteful leather shoes. Dress code rules may not be as strict as they are in other academies, but there will be consequences if the uniform gets so modified that it stops being recognizable.]

You twist the knob and push the door open.  The sounds of babbling and activity die out in an instant at the sounds of squeaking door hinges take over.  You make a careful step past the threshold, unaware of the forty pairs of eyes staring at you or the mischievous giggles directed at you.

As you open the door a little wider to allow the rest of your body to go further, you hear a faint clatter from above that jolts you on alert.  The giggles stop and the kids’ amused expressions turn into surprise.  You look up to see a chalkboard eraser hovering just a couple of inches away from your head.  Ah, the classic chalk duster trap—the ever popular age-old school prank that no one seems to tire of.  You fondly regard it as you remember your SUIT days until you realize that the eraser was still suspended in the air above you.  You tilt your head slightly just enough to see the bewildered faces of your students staring.  Crapbaskets! You must have used majyyk to keep it from landing on you without realizing it.  This doesn’t look good.  The most fundamental rule of majyyk was that it was forbidden to reveal it in the presence of anyone who isn’t another mage.

You pull the majyyk back and let the eraser fall.  However, you were so concentrated on it that you made a momentary oversight of keeping your gaze up on it.  As a result, the dusty board writing correction implement lands square on your face and bouncing off to the floor, chalk dust landing delicately on the surface of your wide open eyeballs.

Holy shit! It stings!!

Your hear a loud chorus of laughter as your hands went to your face on reflex to try and get rid of the dust.  “My goodness!” You hear Ms. Maryam’s voice through the din.

You manage to wipe most of the chalk dust from your face and make a tentative step forward and trip over an invisible wire.  The next thing you know, something falls onto your head with a loud clang and you’re sent tumbling across the floor.  Stopping only after hitting the teacher’s desk at the center of the class front.  The laughter grows louder.  This must be what Ms. Maryam meant when she told you to be careful.  You haven’t even done anything, yet here you are on the floor with some metallic object obscuring your head and face filthy with chalk dust.  You must be quite a sight right now.  How utterly humiliating.  You try your best to blink away your tears; you can’t afford to show any kind of weakness, not in front of your students.

A moment later, the metallic object gets lifted off your head.  You look up expecting to see Ms. Maryam, but it was someone else instead.

“Are you alright?” A troll girl with a jade colored streak in her long silky black hair asks you with a genuine concern on her face.  She kind of reminds you of a mom.  “Oh, you’re just a wriggler.”

You hear more laughing, though this time the rest of the class didn’t join.  Strange enough, one of the jokers’ laughter sounded a lot like a series of LOLs—like the internet slang.

Your savior turns to the source of the laughter with righteous anger burning in her eyes on your behalf.  “Seriously, Kuprum? Folykl? Of all the pranks you two could come up with—a bucket? In class? Really?!”

“Lololol!” A troll boy with four jagged horns and a pair of fuschia goggles strapped over his strange yellow and purple eyes laughs.  “Like how were we supposed to know it ain’t some other shitty adult coming in?” His wide smile shows off a set of saw-like teeth.

“Yeah…” says a troll girl with long greasy terribly unkempt hair and two pairs of horns like Kuprum, only hers jag outward instead of inward like his.  She’s sitting awfully close to him.  “What’s done. . . is done. . .”  Her voice sounds ragged.  Not the tired kind of ragged, but rather the weak and sick kind of ragged.  “Don’t… get your. . . undies. . . in a twist, Bronya. . .  That was. . . funny… as hell. . .”

Your savior, now known as Bronya, started to full on berate the prankster duo.  While she got busy, another troll kid, a boy wearing a pair of sunglasses and horns like deer antlers, goes to help you get back on your feet.

“Sorry about that,” he says in a cool rather aloof manner.  “A lot of these asshats don’t really have anything better to do with their time.”

“Shut up, Dammek! You were in on it a lot of the time!” says a heavyset troll girl sitting next to a long-haired boy with three pointy horns and a mustard yellow coat in lieu of the school blazer.  Her figure is impressively muscular, so much that the sleeves that were supposed to conceal her big buff arms were nonexistent; most likely torn off.  “This whole schoolfeeder pranking was your idea to begin with!”

“Anyway…”  Dammek ignores her.  “Think of it as a rite of passage. Of course, none of the schoolfeeders last very long once we’re done with them.  Not even the troll adults could handle us.”  He says it like it’s some kind of proud accomplishment.

“The trolls here are a bunch of weaklings, including the highbloods,” a girl with curvy notched horns and three eyes agrees while inspecting her nails.  “It’s shameful, really.  They wouldn’t last one second if this was Alternia.”

“They’d be taken to the culling fields for a little R and R, lol,” says Kuprum.  Rest and relaxation? That doesn’t sound so bad.

“Rampage and rending,” he clarifies.  You stand corrected.

“Especially that weirdo with the nubby horns and his lame ass talk about equality and shit.”  A few other trolls in the class turn to give him the stink eye.  “Lololol! So fucking longwinded about it, too.  Like, he never shuts up once he got going.  He’s as bad as Galekh, but preachier.”  A boy with short curly hair, glasses, and Christmas tree-shaped horns scowled and opened his mouth to object, only to be held back by a tired-looking girl with a mug.  “Lol! He’s so full of bullshit, I can’t even—Hrk!”

Kuprum gets cut off abruptly and you see Dammek had taken a tight hold of his uniform necktie and began to choke him with it. You stand around in shock.  Dammek had gone from your side to choking his classmate in a blink of an eye.

“Take that back, you asshole,” he says, voice dangerously low.  But Kuprum was too busy trying not to die to make a proper reply.  Next to him, Folykl is trying to separate the two boys as she cussed out at Dammek, but failing due to her measly strength.  Another troll with a pair of simple curved horns grabs hold of Dammek from behind to pull him away.  No one else tries to get between them.  Some seem content, amused even, at watching them try to go for each other’s throat.  Others just preferred not to get involved.  Bronya has long since retreated to the side.  The look on her face tells you that she wants to stop them, but unsure at how to approach.

This is definitely not how you imagined your first class was going to go.  You have to stop them.  As the teacher, it’s one of your duties to stop your students from killing each other.  You take a step and reach out to try and mediate between the two aggressive young trolls.

“Wrigglers, please! This is not the time for fighting!” Ms. Maryam’s cry beats you to the punch.  The class grows silent and still at the sight of the adult jadeblood standing in front of the class.  She sighed and rubs her temples, trying to soothe away a growing headache.  “Please return to your seats at once.  Honestly, this is not the way to greet your new schoolfeeder.”

The class lets out a collective “Huh?” then started looking back and forth between her and you.

“So, um…” A girl with wide horns reaching horns that looked like a cow’s and a twig in her mouth raises a hand.  “Ms. Maryam, does this mean ya’ll be schoolfeedin’ us from now on?”

“Oh, no,” Ms. Maryam replies.  “I’m only here as an escort.  Your real schoolfeeder is right here.”

All eyes follow as the only adult in the room gestures to the only human.  When you realize all the attention has shifted towards you, you bat away the remaining chalk dust that clung to your hair and clothes before flashing them a friendly smile and wave.  Some of the kids grimace at the sight of your filthy face.

Ms. Maryam smiles at you.  “Please introduce yourself to the class.”  You nod and take your place at the front and center.  You tell them your full name and that from today onwards, you’ll be teaching at this school.  You’ll be only here for three terms, but it’s nice to meet everyone.

There was a pregnant pause as they all just stared at you after you finished your introductions.  All the while you notice that the classroom had a tier-style seating similar to that of an auditorium or a lecture hall where the seats start off from the ground and go higher like a set of stairs.  You silently counted five tier rows, split at the middle by a narrow set of actual stairs with two more additional sets at either side for ease of access.  Each row comfortably accommodates four troll kids each.

Oh, man.  Just look at all those obvious dress code violations.  They’re not even trying to be subtle about it.  Or maybe they just don’t care.

You consider maybe handing out demerits or detention slips for violating the school standard dress code, but scrap that plan quickly.  Doing so wouldn’t endear you much to your students especially since your botched first impression.  Ms. Maryam stands a little bit behind you, ready to intervene in case things start going south.

“Hmm hmm…”  You hear a faint titter.  “Hmhmhmhmhmhmmhmmhwahahahahaah!!” The tittering grew louder until it turned into a full blown laugh.

“Oh how funny this is.  How very droll,” said a three-eyed girl in mirthful mockery.  “That human is going to be schoolfeeding us?”

“The other human schoolfeeders barely lasted longer than the adult troll schoolfeeders did,” says the boy with the flashlight horns, one arm on the desk, the other supporting his chin in a daydreaming pose.  “It’s kinda sad, really.  I would have loved to get to know them a little better.  Humans are so fascinating and exotic.”  He gives you another flirty wink while he gets weird looks from all adjacent classmates.  You nearly blanch.

“Hey! How old are you? You don’t look as old as the other schoolfeeders,” asks a shorter troll boy whose fluffy hair obscured his eyes and seems to be holding a hotdog sandwich.  Doesn’t this little guy know that eating in class is a no-no?

You answer his question anyway, being mindful to give your age both in years and sweeps.  And to make up for your lousy entrance, you also mentioned your university level knowledge in your subject.  Nothing like a little bragging ought to nurse your bruised ego, and maybe to make you look a little less lame than usual.

“So you’re in a similar age as us and are officially qualified to professionally teach a class,” a boy with product-infused hair swooping over one side of his face says as he examined you with a scrutinizing gaze from his seat.  “I must say, that’s rather impressive, even on Alternia.  Though it’s also pretty obvious that the higher-ups of this schoolfeeding facility are getting desperate and running out of ideas.”

“Kinda makes you wonder if this is all for real,” says a girl with hooked horns and dyed blue hair with an undercut, leaning back on her seat with her boot-clad feet on the desk.

“I assure you that Mx. Reader’s credentials are all valid,” says Ms. Maryam.  “Remember, they may be the same age as you, but you must treat them with proper respect as an authority figure, understand?” The class answered her with a chorus of varying but unenthusiastic agreement.

“Alright, now that you’re acquainted, I believe it’s time for class.”  The adult jade troll turned to you.  “You can take it from here, Mx. Reader.”  Oh, okay…  She turns and exits the room.  Great, now you’re all alone and at the mercy of forty unpredictable alien kids.

You nervously make your way behind the teacher’s desk and set and open textbook upon it. You put on your best professional face.  You will not be laughed at again; you’ve got to take this seriously.  You tell the class to turn to a specific page of their textbooks and go up to the chalkboard to write something.  However, it seems that there has been a bit of an oversight on your part.

You’re too short to reach the top of the board.

Your blush as you hear giggles from behind.  You don’t blame them—standing on your tiptoes and stretching your arm up in a useless effort must look really funny.  But then, out of nowhere, you feel your stomach clench and your feet leave the ground.  You go up and up until you make it to the appropriate height you had been aiming for.  This isn’t your doing at all.  You’d know if you used majyyk to float, but in the few seconds of that moment, it felt like you just stepped into a strong breeze.

You turn your head slightly and take a glance back at the class.  You notice flashes of cyan and blue coming from the troll boy with the coat, which turned out to be coming from his eyes.  He’s holding up one hand and you could see his fingertips emit similar colored sparks.  You realize that this must be the work of psionics.  You’ve learned that some trolls, particularly the ones in the burgundy and gold caste, have powerful psychic powers.  Now that you think about it, maybe you’re not the only peculiar one in this school after all.

He notices you looking at him and he gives you a thumbs up with his other hand while smiling.  You thank him silently and move on with the lesson.  Your heart feels lighter at how easy things are going.  The troll kids are nice to you so far.  Maybe it has something to do with your age like Ms. Maryam said.

However, as with all good things, your revelry comes to an end when pain strikes the back of your head and you start to fall.  You cry out, but quickly catch yourself with a quick floatation spell and make a soft landing back on the floor.  You look around and back to the class and at the goldblood kid who catches your gaze and shakes his head in adamant denial.  By the looks of it, he is just as surprised as you are and it broke his concentration on you which caused your fall.  You turn back around to the board, deciding it was for the best to just keep going like nothing happened. . . until it happens again… twice.

You’re hit with such force that your forehead slams on the chalkboard.  The giggles resumed.  You step away, rubbing your aching forehead.

“Is there something wrong, teacher?” You hear Bronya ask.  You tell her that there are things that keep flying at you.  She immediately casts an admonishing look at Kuprum and Folykl, who quickly catch on.

“Don’t… look at us…” says Folykl.

“We already did our share of pranks,” Kuprum follows.

Bronya turns away, begrudgingly deeming them honest.  She then leans forward on her seat to look at someone at the far end of her row.  “Cirava, did you use your psionics against the schoolfeeder?”

Yet another goldblood troll looks her way with a half-lidded neon green eye at the mention of her name.  They had short messy hair that stuck out at different directions.  Like the other goldbloods, they had four horns—two of which go straight up and curve a little outward near the top and ended in two pointy prongs.  A triangular eyepatch hides and injury in their other eye if the prominent gold veins on that side of their face are to be referenced.

They speak in a relaxed almost sleepy tone.  “Nah, my dude.  My psionics haven’t worked right since I took out my eye.”  You look at them, utterly mortified.  How and why would anyone mutilate themselves like that was beyond you.

“I see,” Bronya says in understanding.  She then turns around to ask the last remaining psionic kid.  The short stocky one sitting next to her wasn’t one despite being also goldblooded, guess not all of them can have super cool powers.  “Well, Azdaja?”

Azdaja began shaking his head once more.  “I didn’t do it.  I was helping, remember?”

Bronya furrowed her brow.  “Then who did?”

“You’re asking me?”

“Hey! Leave him alone,” the buff-bodied girl next to him shouted.  “Daja didn’t do shit wrong! Calm your rumble spheres, fussyfangs!” Bronya turned away with a huff.

“It’s probably Dammek,” said the girl with the dyed hair.  “He’s sorta paranoid so he tends to go around testing people.”  Dammek glared her way, upset at being downright outed.  “He’s was mostly the reason we had gone through several schoolfeeders befo—Ack!” An unknown projectile hits the side of her head and makes her flinch.  She glares back at him, baring her sharp teeth.

“You wanna go, Elwurd?” he asks.

You start to get nervous.  You’re really not keen on having another fight in your class.  And Ms. Maryam isn’t around this time to help you out.

Ding… dong… dong… ding…

Whew! Saved by the bell.  Thank gog.  You’re not sure how you would have done should things got out of hand.

You check your watch for the time.  It’s high noon, which means it’s lunchtime! The kids get up from their seats and start heading for the door as you gather your things from the teacher’s desk.

You notice something on the floor next to your foot.  You bend down and pick it up out of curiosity and look at it closely.  It was white with brushes of gray and felt rubbery to the touch. It’s an eraser, or a chunk of an eraser broken off from a larger whole.  You think back to several minutes ago, put two and two together and grimace.  This tiny thing almost gave you a concussion.

“Hello there~” You hear a suave voice coming from nearby.  You turn and see one the flashlight-horned troll boy standing in front of you.  You wonder if he needs something.

“I can’t help but realize that you might be all alone during this midday meal hour,” he said, sidling up to you and getting a little too close for comfort.  “Have you been given a tour of our fine schoolfeeding facility yet? If not, then I’m more than happy to volunteer.  I’ve been around for a while and I know every hidden cranny.  I can show them to you if you want, and perhaps get to know each other while we’re at it?” Oh gog, this is just like your Japanese animes—except it’s real and not as romantically exciting as you thought it would be!

“Move aside, Troll Romeo!” Flirtyboy let out a grunt when he was shoved away from you.  Thank goodness for that.

“Hey teach, you wanna have lunch with us?” Elwurd presence replaces Romeo’s (is that even his real name?) albeit at a more acceptable distance.  “I bet you still got no clue where the nutrition block is in this place.  Why don’t you come with me and Cirava and we’ll show you?” Cirava waves at you from their spot a foot away.

You take a moment to ponder on her offer.  There wasn’t much time for a grand tour when you and Mr. Vantas stepped out of the airport and quickly got marched to your class.  You nod.  It would be nice to have company.  Fortunately, you needn’t worry about any kind of stigma associated with anything beyond the acceptable student-teacher relationship.  You may be the teacher, but it doesn’t take away the fact that you and your students are all about the same age.

Elwurd beams.  “Cool! Let’s go.”  The two troll girls walk with you on both your sides like a pair of bodyguards.  Boy, this day just keeps getting better.  The day wasn't over yet and you're already making friends with your students.  Was it because your'e a teacher? Ah, who cares? You're happy!

You go ahead and take the first to step out of the classroom.

“Ah, Reader! There you are.”  You hear Mr. Vantas’ voice call out to you, and sure enough, there he is coming at you down the hall.  And he isn’t alone—there’s another adult troll behind him.  She was a lady like Ms. Maryam, though younger and a has a little wild look on her.  Her hair was long and a little messy, though you could clearly make out her horns that look like cat ears.  Her casual business attire has mostly olive colors.

“Welp, it looks like there some important schoolfeeder biz about to go down,” says Elwurd.  “Looks like we’re gonna have to cancel our lunch date.  Maybe next time.”  She gives you finger-guns and a wink before leaving.

“Later!” Cirava bids, following behind Elwurd.  You wave them goodbye.

“Reader, would you care to join us for lunch?” Mr. Vantas asks as he and his friend stop to talk to you.  “I know you’re young, but we’re still colleagues.  Also, Dolorosa insisted that we invite you along in case you have any questions.”

Dolo—who?”

“Oh, sorry. I meant Ms. Maryam.”  Isn’t her name ‘Porrim’?

“It’s more of a title. Like mine is ‘Signless’.  It’s… a weird troll thing…”  Right.

“Wow, is this the wriggler teacher mew told me about?” asks the lady troll, gaping at you with wide eyes.

“Yes, they are,” Mr. Vantas replies.  “Also, maybe if you—”

“Eeeeeeeeeeeee! Mew’re so cute!” The lady troll cried while hugging the life out you with your face pressing on to her chest.  Did she just use cat puns?

Mr. Vantas gives her a dry look that goes unnoticed.  “I can’t believe a tiny kitten like you is a teacher in our school! Oh-em-gee!” Several students lingering the hall watch with amusement as she goes on to pinching and squishing your cheeks in her alien hands like a lump of toy slime.

Uhh…

“Meulin, please stop.  You’re embarrassing them,” Mr. Vantas admonishes her.  She pouts a little, but does as he says.  “Sorry about that,” he apologizes to you on her behalf.  You tell him you’re fine.  Hopefully the slight swelling of your abused cheeks would go down in time for your next class.  And yes, joining them for lunch sounds like a swell idea.  You could ask for pointers in teaching.

“That great! Shall we go then?” You nod and take your place between the two adults like you had with Elwurd and Cirava.

Being the big school Alterra Academy is, there’s no doubt that their facilities like the cafeteria would also be big.  Though to you, it isn’t such a big deal.  The dining hall at SUIT was just as big.  The difference between that and the academy cafteria is the contemporary design versus the old ancient castle look.  There are kitchen installations lined along two ends of the facility and some stalls that serve all kinds of food, including Alternian fare.  You and your colleagues go and order some food and head to the Staff Lounge where all the other teachers and some other members of the school staff congregate on their breaks to escape from the kids and relax for at least an hour everyday.

“It looks like you’re getting along with Class 413,” Mr. Vantas says after sitting down on a cushy chair.  Meulin, or Ms. Leijon the Literary Arts teacher as she introduced herself, sat on another next to him.  “How was your first class? Was there any trouble?” You have half a mind to tell him all that happened, but you also didn’t want to come off as whining.  So you tell him that it was a success and everyone was so well behaved and nice.

“Whoa, really?” he asks.  “That’s new.  All the other teachers who tried to handle that class usually ran out crying or furious around the first quarter of class time.  I even tried, but…”

Ms. Leijon beside him giggles.  “He ended up unleashing a vast expletive at the class after half an hour.  It was so loud, some teachers poked their heads out of their classrooms to see what was going on--myself included.  After that, he walked out and lamented to Dolorosa what he did.”

“Don’t tell him that, Meulin.  The last thing I want is to have Reader get a bad impression of me.”  S he stuck her tongue out at him in a playful manner.  “I still can’t believe I lost my patience so easily.  Perhaps my time at the flogging jut has changed me.”  His expression turns somber. Ms. Leijon takes one of his hands in hers and give it a gentle reassuring squeeze.  Flogging? Was he involved with shady characters who he got on the bad side of?

“No, nothing like that,” Mr. Vantas says.  “Though to the Alternian ruling class, I might as well have. Not that it mattered much since I shouldn’t have lived in the first place.”

How come?

Mr. Vantas looks at you square in the eye.  “As you may or may not know, the planet Alternia is ruled by the hemospectrum.  Those in the warm end scrounge whatever they can to live by while being under the cruel thumb of the blueblood nobility.  Though in every generation of trolls laid by the Mother Grub, there’d be outliers—mutants—who don’t belong anywhere in the hemospectrum.  I was one such mutant.”

You raise an eyebrow and your eyes dart back and forth between him and Ms. Leijon.  Other than the obvious differences between them due to their genders, you don’t really see anything different about Mr. Vantas… unless, he’s got some weird appendage hiding under his clothes.

“I can tell you’re skeptical, and I don’t blame you,” he continues.  “Most mutations are often visible like an extra pair of eyes, or limbs, or whatever else that’s atypical of a certain caste.  Any troll grub who hatch with such mutations are often culled to keep the gene pool pure. Though there are cases, such as in goldbloods, where mutations are given a free pass as they are deemed useful by the regime.  In my case, however, the mutation is in my blood.”

Why? What’s wrong with his blood? Does he have a disease?

Mr. Vantas gave a low chuckle at your assumptions.  “No, it has more to do with the color.  You see, rather than a deep rust as dictated by the hemospectrum, my blood is a bright crimson like you humans have.  Since it was outside the hemospectrum, it marked me as a mutant and therefore have to be culled.  It was only through the kindness of the Dolorosa, my jadeblood mother, that my life was spared.  However, in doing so, she had to leave the brooding caverns in order to properly care for me.  From then on, we lived as nomads—never staying in any place for too long to avoid the risk getting my blood discovered and culled for it by the highbloods.  But as I grew older, I became more aware of the cruel and unjust way of life for lowbloods.  I thought to myself, there has to be a better way to live—where all would care for one another regardless of blood.  Soon, I began having vision of such a life, and started to spread the word. Before long, I gained followers.”

You nodd in understanding as you listen to him relay his life story to you.  So it turns out that the Dolorosa, who is Ms. Maryam, adopted and raised Mr. Vantas who grew up to become some kind of activist.

Though his story was compelling, you have a feeling that it wouldn’t have a happy ending.

“And of course, as with all good things in Alternia, it never meant to last or make a difference.  To make an already long story short, word got to the highbloods about my ‘radical’ ideals and deemed it a threat to the system, thus I got captured.  I was sentenced to death both as a mutant and a rebel, then tied me up on the flogging jut with burning shackles.  I was continuously beaten until my so-called heretical blood was let for all to see.  As I faded into unconsciousness, my final thought was that it was finally the end for me; I’d die without having realized my dream.  However, after what felt like eons, I found myself waking surrounded by friends and family.  I thought I had truly died, but the stinging pain of my wounds told me otherwise.  Later, I found out that one of my distant followers started a riot that allowed for our escape from the empire in a stolen battleship.”

At that point, a familiar motherly voice decided to chime in to add her bit.  “Finding your planet was something that happened by chance,” she says.  “We didn’t know where we were going.  All that mattered was to get away from the reaches of the Empire as quickly as possible.  There were a few hundred of us cramped in a battleship flying through space.  By the time we found Earth, we have exhausted most of our rations.”  You look up to see Ms. Maryam standing behind your chair.  “Once we realized that the blue and green planet ahead of us was capable of sustaining life, we immediately went full speed ahead and soon crashed.  Many of us perished, but thanks to the helpful efforts of a certain human, many were also saved.  And the rest, as you humans say, is history.”

Okay, the story did have a happy ending after all.  Though you were so preoccupied by the story that you didn’t realize when Ms. Maryam arrived.  How long has she been there?

“Just enough to hear Kankri tell you about the aftermath of his failed execution,” she replies, moving to take a seat next to you.

“What took mew so long, Dolorosa? Lunch period is halfway over,” asks Ms. Leijon.

Ms. Maryam gave a little sigh.  “Well, I went to invite a certain someone to join us while we get properly acquainted with our new teacher,” she looks at you, “but he seemed to be too absorbed in his work to move.  He didn’t seem to be interested on meeting them either, so I let him be.  It’s quite a shame.”

Welp, that can’t be helped.  You know better than to assume that everyone would be excited or curious enough to see a kid teacher.  All that’s left to do is enjoy your now cold lunch with your new colleagues.

“Oh, right. I almost forgot,” Mr. Vantas says while he and Ms. Leijon open up theirs.  “Say, while we’re at it, how about you tell us more about how your first class went.”

And so you spent the rest of the hour relishing the company of your fellow educators.

EXTRA

ALTERRA ACADEMY CLASS 413 ROSTER

(SPEAKING ROLES ONLY/NO PARTICULAR ORDER)

Student numbers are in accordance to Troll Call order of introduction + Dammek and Xefros

Name: Bronya Ursama

Student #: 32

Blood Color: Jade

Sign: Virus

Extra-curricular/s: Grubsitters Club, Class President (?)

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: None

~oOo~

Name: Folykl Darane

Student #: 13

Blood Color: Gold

Sign: Gemittarius

Extra-curricular/s: Pranksters’ Gambit Club

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Unbuttoned blazer, nonexistent tie, pants rather than skirt, lacking presence of appropriate footwear

Note: Never separate from Kuprum

~oOo~

Name: Kuprum Maxlol

Student #: 14

Blood Color: Gold

Sign: Gemnius

Extra-curricular/s: Prankster’s Gambit Club

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Unbuttoned blazer, Loose tie, messy untucked shirt

Note: Never separate from Folykl

~oOo~

Name: Dammek ??????

Student #: 1

Blood Color: Bronze

Sign: Taurcer

Extra-curricular/s: Alterra Middle School Rock Band (Grubbles)

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Inappropriate eyewear

~oOo~

Name: Konyyle Okimaw

Student #: 36

Blood Color: Olive

Sign: Lepia

Extra-curricular/s: Alterra MMA Club

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Torn off sleeves on both blazer and shirt

~oOo~

Name: Ardata Carmia

Student #: 27

Blood Color: Cerulean

Sign: [Blocked by smudge on page]

Extra-curricular/s: Audio Visual Club, Social Media Streamers Club

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Cape over uniform

~oOo~

Name: Skylla Koriga

Student #: 12

Blood Color: Bronze

Sign: Taurist

Extra-curricular/s: Agriculture Research Society

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Cowboy boots

~oOo~

Name: Zebruh Codakk

Student #: 34

Blood Color: Indigo

Sign: Sagimino

Extra-curricular/s: Strolling Club

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Bow tie in place of standard tie, blazer tied around waist, shirt sleeves rolled to elbows

Note: In case of emergency, call the Academy Security Hotline.

~oOo~

Name: Tagora Gorjek

Student #: 26

Blood Color: Teal

Sign: Liga

Extra-curricular/s: Alterra Future Business Leaders, Class Treasurer

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Pinstripe pants

Note: If he tries to offer something, politely decline even if in dire need.

~oOo~

Name: ?????? Elwurd

Student #: 21

Blood Color: Cerulean

Sign: Scornius

Extra-curricular/s: Strolling Club

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Skinny jeans and combat boots under skirt

~oOo~

Name: Cirava Hermod

Student #: 25

Blood Color: Gold

Sign: Gemrius

Extra-curricular/s: Vaporwave Appreciation Society

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Disheveled ‘not even trying’ look, gray leggings, inappropriate footwear

~oOo~

Name: Azdaja Knelax

Student #: 35

Blood Color: Gold

Sign: Gemra

Extra-curricular/s: Alterra Anime Afficionados Association (A4)

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Mustard yellow overcoat in lieu of school blazer

~oOo~

Name: Diemen Xicali

Student #: 11

Blood Color: Burgundy

Sign: Arrius

Extra-curricular/s: Alterra Gastronauts

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: None

ALTERRA ACADEMY FACULTY & STAFF DOSSIER

Name: Meulin “The Disciple” Leijon

Age: 15 solar sweeps/33 years

Blood Color: Olive

Occupation: Signless’ most devoted follower/girlfriend, Academy Literature Teacher

Notes:

-Gratuitous cat puns

-Likes to ship even as an adult

-Furiously studies and compares human and troll literature

[veryangryhedgehog]

“The Man Who died Twice,” An Ede Valley story by Hedgehog.

The Man who died Twice

(Just in this one Scene)

Ace didn’t know what he was doing in a suburb like Ede Valley. He was used to the hustle and bustle—and general violence and mayhem—of the city. Back there, he was somebody; he’d started from nothing, built his livelihood, his business. People scattered when they saw him approach.

That was true here as well, but he didn’t get quite the same high from soccer moms trundling little Timmy away from the strange man with the funny sunglasses.

Yep, he certainly missed the city, but he’d be back there soon enough, just as soon as he got this whole “deal” mess sorted out. He didn’t know why he was coming here now of all times. His business was booming, the world was in the palm of his hand. Maybe that was exactly why: he’d done everything he’d set out to do. It was time to reclaim his collateral.

Of course, that hadn’t been the terms of the original agreement, but did Ace look like he gave a flying fuck about the fine print?

Actually, don’t answer that. You don’t even know what Ace looks like. Yet.

See him here now, in his dark suit and omnipresent mirrored sunglasses, sitting at the counter of a smoky, quiet British pub. He could tell that this was a suburb because even here, in the shadiest part of town, people merely snuck glances at him over their pints and muttered to each other.

The bartender, he noticed, was new, a young kid with near-dreads and a frankly ludicrous number of tattoos. Probably one of those new-age hipsters or something. He sincerely hoped the pub hadn’t changed hands. But considering that from the neon sign to the dark interior, it for all intents and purposes appeared that no time had passed since he’d last stepped foot through that door all those years ago, he sincerely doubted that was the case.

“Hey, kid,” he called to the bartender, who was currently taking stock of the fine liquor selection displayed with an unmatched flair behind the bar.

The kid looked up. “Can I get you another?”

He swore, kids these days just had no manners. “That’s ‘can I get you another, sir’ and no. I’m here to speak to your boss. Probably.”

Sighing, the kid didn’t move. “Seems like everyone is. He’s in the back with a… client right now. You’ll have to wait a minute… sir.”

The kid had some spunk, Ace had to admit. It was truly difficult to fit that much sarcasm in one syllable. He made a note to himself to tip the cheeky brat later.

Ace was just about to order another drink while he waited, when with that unnaturally uncanny timing of his, the owner of The Smiling Goat strode through the back curtain, directly after a pale man in a truly fugly sweater vest.

“I’m sorry, Marcell,” Cowell was saying, “but for all your years and power there’s nothing you can do for either of them. Inconvenient as it is, both little miss Sabrina and the scary dragon lady made their deals fair and square.”

The pale man took a deep, clenched breath, briefly revealing unnaturally white teeth. “You know, Cowell, someday you’re gonna get exactly what’s coming to you.”

“And lucky you will no doubt still be around to witness the glorious event first hand.” Cowell grinned as the pale man nearly growled. “Now if you’ll excuse me, unless you’d like to stick around and have a pint, it appears I have other business to attend to.”

He gestured the pale man out onto the street and turned back to the bar. He blinked once, as his owl-like eyes fell on Ace, and shook his head. “Ace, is that you? My god, it must be… bloody years since I’ve seen you last.”

“I’d hoped it was the last,” Ace stood and shook Cowell’s hand. Slimy stick of a man though he was, Cowell had a firm handshake. Ace had to respect that.

“Doesn’t everyone,” Cowell recovered effortlessly. “Now, if you’ll just follow me to my office we can—”

But he didn’t get a chance to finish, for just then the door was kicked open, and the pub went silent. Ace instinctively reached for the gun under his jacket as he saw several vaguely familiar faces enter the dark bar. For a second, however, he thought he must be dreaming, because he never thought in a million years that he would see this assortment of faces together. Half of them were the pinched, Italian faces of the Mirelli’s, and half were the pasty, Russian faces of the Borozovs.

“What in the ever-loving fuck…” Ace began.

“I agree!” Cowell cut in. “Why on earth would anyone kick in that door? I had to pay a specialist to get it to stick like that.”

“N-no, that’s not…” Ace shook his head. “Never mind. This might be my fault. These chucklefucks clearly tailed me.”

The four men stepped through the doorway, and still with the utmost calm, Cowell motioned for the patrons to leave. The men let them go. Clearly they wanted to handle whatever it was they were here for quietly.

“Hands where I can see ‘em,” said the short one, waving a pistol nonchalantly through the air. Cowell and the bartender stuck their hands up, the latter looking slightly on edge, and after gesturing to the tall one to watch them, the short one turned to Ace.

“You really didn’t think we wouldn’t catch onto you playing both of us?” he asked. “We’re not stupid. Once we all realized you’d been uh… consortin’ with our greatest enemy, well, loyalties run deep, so now you’s gotta die.”

Ace rolled his eyes. “Look like it matters to me? Go on, do it. I dare you.”

The short one looked a little unnerved, but thinking he’d called his bluff, straightened up again, and fired. Once, twice—always doubletap—and Ace fell to the floor with a small thump.

All present looked at his corpse for a second, including Ace himself, from over the short one’s shoulder. He would say that he hated dying, but usually he was already gone before the pain really hit. That didn’t mean he wasn’t still absolutely pissed.

“That… was a really nice suit.” All four of the men turned towards him with looks of abject horror on their faces. A gentleman might have given them a few seconds to react, but Ace was no gentleman. He punched the short one right in the face, and all hell broke loose.

Even with his ability to not die backing him up, Ace was no slouch at hand-to-hand combat. The short one was nearly down after that one punch, and the butt of Ace’s gun against his forehead knocked him out of the fight for good.

By then, the three others had recovered from their surprise and had begun to advance on him, guns gleaming in the dim lamplight. But Ace was ready for them.

“What do we do?” the bartender kid turned to Cowell, who merely looked vaguely amused at the scene. Just then, a bullet zinged directly over their heads and hit the old wood crossbeam.

“This, Tommy, is the part where we duck behind the bar to minimize the risk of a bullet ricocheting and hitting us.” When the kid looked about ready to resist, Cowell simply grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him down with him. “You see, I could easily come back from something as simple as a bullet, but you on the other hand,” he made a hissing sound between his teeth,” not so much. And I’d not like to see your rather pretty face marred by blood today.”

The kid blushed slightly, and opened his mouth to comment on this, but was interrupted by a body being dragged across the bar directly over their heads, bits of broken glass from smashed pints rained down on them.

“Ooo, I’m going to have to replace those,” Cowell muttered.

“Sorry about the mess,” Ace shouted over the sound of someone’s jaw breaking. “I’m trying to minimize the damage but you know how these things go.”

“Well, you’re trying your best, and that’s all that matters.”

The last man standing, one of the Russians, ran at Ace with a pool cue he’d found lying around, but Ace shot him clear through the forehead before he ever reached him. He barely even had to look.

When all was said and done, there were six bodies on the ground. Two of them were Ace. After tapping them lightly to make sure none of them were getting up anytime soon, he sat back down at the bar and wrapped on the counter. “Hey kid, how about that drink?”

The kid and Cowell appeared from behind the bar, and after a second of taking in the scene, the kid blinked and mumbled, “Um, yeah, sure.”

Miraculously, the liquor display had not been harmed in the slightest.

“So, why are you really here, Ace?” Cowell leaned against the bar. “I hope it wasn’t just to trash the place.”

“I think you know what I came for,” Ace sighed wearily, and took a hard swig from the bottle of whiskey that the kid had just passed him. “My deal.”

It was clear that Cowell already knew the answer, but he asked anyway. “What about it?”

“You know, all those years ago, I thought I had outfoxed you. Hell, you gave me the ability to not die for nothing in return.” He stared off into nothing for a minute. “But I misunderstood, didn’t I?”

“They always do,” Cowell grinned a little, pleased with himself.

Ace continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “But it wasn’t for free, was it? Cuz while you gave me the ability to not die, that also means… that I can’t die.”

“You’re lucky,” Cowell said. “Most people don’t live long enough to realize what their deals truly mean.” He straightened up abruptly. “So, good for you, well done, a pat on the back, nice to see you.”

“Is that it?” Ace asked. “I was just hopin that since I’d figured it out, you know, learned my lesson and all, that you could…”

“Remove it? No can do, I’m afraid,” Cowell chuckled beginning to turn away.

“You mean you won’t do it?”

“Not won’t, can’t,” Cowell shrugged. “Once a deal is made nothing can be done.”

Frowning, Ace processed this for a second. He gazed down at the bottle in front of him. “Then make a new deal with me.” He gazed, stony-eyed, behind his sunglasses. “I’ll give you my ability to not die, and in exchange, you allow me to die.”

Cowell opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He did it again. Finally he frowned. “That… is a loophole that I had not considered. I sincerely hope no one else finds out about this.” He turned back to Ace. “Normally, I wouldn’t allow it. But I like you, and you’ve provided me with entertainment for the afternoon, so I’ll allow it just this one time.”

They sealed the deal with a firm handshake, and that was that. Ace took one last swig from the bottle, stood, and put a twenty on the counter. “That’s for the kid,” he glared pointedly at Cowell.

The daemon waved pleasantly as Ace made for the now broken door. “See you around.”

“No offence,” Ace paused, “but I certainly hope not.”

He walked out onto the sunny street and blinked for a second, even with the sunglasses. As he started walking, he happened to see a woman across the street, watching him. She had been watching him for years.

“Not yet,” he muttered and kept walking. There were still a few things he needed to take care of first. But once those were done, he’d be ready to step into her cold, loving embrace with open arms.

[thenervousmedic]

A coffee a day... (Connor X Reader)

Note : (Dying noises)

Word count : just over 3k.

Chapter 6 : Lose one thing to gain another.

Teenagers can be so cruel.

At a time in your life where every little interaction means the world to you, outside influence can change an angel to a brat or a shy girl into a monster.

Fortunately for you, bullies didn't get to you very often. If anything you found their dumb insults funny because of the many vastly better ones you had already thought of. Just calling you ‘Fat’ or ‘ugly’ wasn't enough anymore- if they wanted a fight they'd have to work for it.

That being said… you had a pretty big weakness. Other bullied students.

You hated watching them get torn to shreds by some tough guy dumbass and their trio of mindless minions.

“G-Gavin, please, I j-just need to get past-” A small, dorky looking, man cried out as he was pushed into the dirt. His glasses skidding across the gravel towards your feet. The bullies shouted mean things, but you barely noticed, interrupting their enjoyment with a rough punch to his face. It stung your knuckles like hell, but the look of shock they gave you was more than worth it.

“Go fuck yourself, Gavin.” You spat harshly as they turned tail to tell a teacher on you; the runty child at your back dusting himself off.

“T-thanks…” He fumbled with his glasses, sliding them awkwardly up a wonky button nose. “You didn't have to.”

“Of course I did.” You scoff proudly, holding yourself a lot more confidently than your new companion. “Come on, you're staying with me now, they won't bother you anymore.What is your name?”

He stares at you, at a complete loss for words, before nodding briskly and taking your hand. “My name Is J-Jayden, you?”

“Y/N.”

--

“Y/N, I must insist you rest-”

“Nuh-uh. You said I should help if I could, so I'm going to help.” Your determination came off as stubbornness but it was all in good intentions. Today was going to be a slow day, but if you could at the very least stay with your two guardians during their work hours you'd feel a little less awkward about being left in Hanks home by yourself.

“Hank, how do I get them to cooperate-” It was then you noticed him watching the two of you. Clearly finding this funny, a big shit eating grin plastered to his muzzle. The lack of drinking the night before meant to hangover- something Hank sometimes wished he had anyway to tolerate Connors non-stop working demeanor.

“Give up, Connor, it's not worth getting your wires in a twist.”

“My wires can't get twisted, lieutenant, they're not-”

“For fucks sake, just forget it-” It was your turn to grin like a dumbass as Connors lip twinged into a tiny smirk. If you didn't know better you'd think Connor was annoying his partner on purpose.

“Don't be too hard on Puppydroid, he's still learning to adapt to your attitude.” You and Hank share an amused glance at one another. Connor suddenly looking a little lost in the conversation.

“In that case he's got a whole lot to adapt to.”

“You don't say?”

The face you made, the rising inflection in your tone, Hank knew what you just referenced and tried not to reply in a joking manner. He had a job to do, as annoying as that was, and the idea of Connor reminding him yet again how much time they were wasting just pissed him off internally.

“Would you like me to catch you up on what we discovered last night? Y/N made some very interesting connections.”

A grumble was all Connor got as everyone left the house, taking that as an invitation to continue. “Y/N brought a speech made by Mr.Kamski to my attention. It has mention of the codeword we are using for our connective focus. Biocode. It sounds like, as well as our mechanical coding, androids have been embedded with experiences that predate our creation.”

“It's like putting your actual thoughts into someone else's head!” You added In the moment Connor paused to let Hank process the information.

“So wait.-" His pace slowed slightly, allowing for the three of you to walk side by side Instead of slightly behind his lead. “-You're suggesting androids have emotions and free will hidden in their code before they deviate? That's insane.”

Connor frowned, clearly wanting to defend your discovery as the police station lurked in the distance. “It would explain the sudden rise in Deviant reports. As well as make sense of how deviancy spreads so easily. Anyone with the key to unlock that source code could potentially deviate anyone they come into contact with. What's worse is that… It might be manipulated if someone knows how to access it.”

“And what about you, Connor, huh?” The way Hank’s growl turned aggravated gave you a sense of caution. How was it a man with only his voice could make you feel safe one moment then urge you to keep away from them the next? “If your ‘theory’ is right, that makes everyone a deviant, just waiting to realise it. That means technically you’re a-”

“I am not a deviant, I have a mission to complete and that’s what I intend to do.” You noticeably flinched as Connor raised his voice, something you’d not seen him do before. That calm analytical  tone was all you were used to, not the sudden burst of anger that had just snapped beside you. His face softened on noticing the concern in your eyes. The abrupt change in temperment sent errors up in his sight here and there.

Hank sighed, it was long, heavy, like someone just let the air out of a very old balloon. “Yeah. You’re right… like you’d give a damn about anything other than the fuckin’ mission.” It was like the witty banter you all shared moments ago had never happened. Something electrical and stone cold squeezed your heart tightly; threatening to break it. A figurative dark cloud hanging over everyone despite the bright sunshine that shone overhead.

Your opinion was an unpopular one. That deviants didn’t need ‘fixing’, that they felt love and hate and everything in between, and your now-gone friend Adam was proof of that. He had dreams and aspirations He was so nice and continued to do his job even after deviating because of how much he enjoyed it. But now you’d…. Never see him again.

It hit you like a truck. Loss, realisation, anger, denial. Everything at once crashed onto your throat making you unable to join in the conversation to ease the tension.

Neither Connor nor Hank seemed to notice, your blank warm-hearted smile masking the inner workings that started to scream out his name. It wasn't too bad. You told yourself it was fine. The guilt you felt at forgetting him so easily, the need to tell him you were sorry, strangled out as a strained cough amongst the silence. It came out almost like a choking sound, Connor’s head turning sharply to look at you with hollow eyes, your composure faltering for but a small second before you started walking regularly again.

It was a lot all at once, but you would handle it… they didn't need to know...

The police station was quite nice, a mix of modern technology and design without compromising any accessibility. People sat at their workplaces in neat uniform with equally neat desks save for a few here and there that were less organised than the others. As always it made you nervous. You had nothing against cops, most of them were really nice people, it’s just the force behind them. People armed to the teeth with ways to subdue and kill you, people trained to appear friendly even if they dislike you in order to uphold the precincts reputation. That being said, there were also plenty of shitty law officers who would gladly talk shit for the sake of doing so. Come to think of it-

“Oh goodie, here comes the walking calculator.” Most everyone, including Connor, completely ignored the voice that approached from afar. Hank headed to his desk, not looking back, as Connor’s path was blocked by a slightly shorter man. He wore scruffy messy clothing, barely enough to make him look like he actually cared about his job, with just as messy brown hair spiking out in all directions. You had to hide an angry grin at noticing the name on his jacket and the crooked scar across his nose. “Got yourself a girlfriend, huh?”

As he squared his gaze with yours the defiant smile you wore was enough to catch him by surprise. “Hi Gavin.” You growled, very uncharacteristically hostile toward the officer as he continued to get in Connor's way. “How’s your face?”

“Better than yours by the looks of it.” He grumbled back, much to Connor’s confusion as you two continued to glare at one another like your eyes were doing all the fighting. He huffed, leaning against the wall in front of you two. “Look who isn’t an officer-”

“Look who is still an asshole-”

“Y/N, please, we have work to do.” Connor’s hand reached for your shoulder as the rivalry escalated, your nerves tingling at the thought of getting to have another fight with your long-time childhood opponent. But he was right. You couldn’t fight him here, it’s literally a police station, and your wound wouldn’t exactly fair well from a scrap either. You shrugged his hand away from your side, crossing your arms with an irritated pout before following Connor as you both walked around Gavin. “You know Officer Reed?” His curiosity was inevitable considering what just occurred.

“Yes. I know Gavin.” The spite in your voice had obviously intrigued the android since he wouldn't stop staring at you expectantly.

“You don't seem to like each other.”

“I broke his nose.” You pointed out, motioning to your own nose before flicking a glance back at Gavin (Who was now sauntering his way to the break room like your conversation never happened.) God you hate Gavin.

“Oh…” Connor’s face expressed an awkwardness that made you smile again, it seems he realised that this conversation would be best left for later. “Well, lets focus on the task at hand.”

--

You were right, today was gonna be a long one, the time seemed to tick on almost as slowly as when you were at your real job. Though it wasn’t really a bad thing, you had plenty of time to watch Hank yell at his boss and glare at Gavin from across the room.

You didn’t want to mention anything about it to Connor, but Gavin had liked you quite a lot in high school… you hated admitting when you were wrong, but you knew for certain that back then you had done plenty of wrong deeds. It was such a shame. Gavin had started out so promising, charming even, and yet during his time with you he just got meaner and meaner. Beating up Jayden was the last straw for you back then, you couldn’t just stand aside and enable his bad habits.

To be truthful you hadn’t meant to break his nose… turns out you punch a hell of a lot stronger than you might think.

“Y/N, come look at this.” Hank had finally said something after seemingly being pissed off at connor for several hours. You jumped at the opportunity to get involved, jogging light bouncy steps to his side of the desk before leaning over to look at his screen.

Rumours of the mass-hostage situation had already gone public, people were ranting all sorts of nonsense online, people were even videoing themselves throwing their androids down pits or off of bridges. Tearing limbs off, beating them with bats, setting them on fire. You could see the fear in their eyes, the pure terror, the complete hopelessness as they bled out blueblood onto the floor.

“Do you think- Hey, you alright?” You hadn’t realised you were tearing up until Hank closed the page and held your arm tightly. “Easy kiddo…”

“I-I’m ok.” you smiled, sniffling while rubbing your eyes roughly with your sleeve. Mind reeling from the sudden outburst of information in your head. “-Just forgot to blink is all.”

But it was too late. You only barely held it together earlier, seeing the androids treated this way was enough to push you over the edge. Tears dribbled uncontrollably across your face despite your best efforts to fight them away. All you were thinking about is not looking upset, and that wasn’t going to plan.

You tried laughing quietly to make it less painful to sniffle back breaths but it wasn’t much help. “Hey, hey, it’s ok. Don’t be like that.” A large pair of arms wrapped around your shoulders, comfortably cuddling you up against a rough shirt. Hank’s concerned voice was almost fatherly and as much as it was getting him strange looks he was doing his best to calm you down. Rocking ever so slightly from side to side as you sobbed helplessly into his arm. “It’s alright, you’re ok, let it out.”

“Lieutenant?” Connor had risen from his desk, watching with conflicted confusion as Hank held you in an almost protective stance.

“I’m ok.” You whimpered softly, at this point numb to the fact you were breaking down in a public place.

Adam was gone, Connor had almost been destroyed, and you had nobody to go to. Knowing next time you go to work, after all of this, you’ll walk into an empty building and spend the day with a replacement android… it was tearing at your throat. You'd never hear his laugh again. Never see the cute happy dances he did when talking about coffee, or the beaming grin that welcomed you every single morning without fail. He was so sweet, why did he have to die? He didn’t deserve that! It wasn’t fair!

“He w-was alive, Hank, he was D-deviant.” You mumbled past the hitched breaths, already feeling the burning stare that was Connor's eyes on your back. It made you shiver. You didn’t feel safe. “Why are people treating androids like this- they’re not just MACHINES!” you pushed Hank away, struggling out of his grip before harshly clutching at your stomach as it began to ache.

Connor caught you as you stumbled backwards. His grip was unwavering- unlike hank’s gentle hold. “You have to calm down, you’re going to hurt yourself-”

“Yeah that’d really slow you down wouldn’t it Connor?” You sounded bitter, and wow did it sting. You couldn’t see past the blurry vision, but his face looked utterly heartbroken. It’s like someone just told him his dog died, his grip slackened enough for you to realise what you had said might’ve been a little harsh. He had insisted he wasn’t deviant…. But you knew he had something in there. Whether it was emotion or just an accurate simulation of them you felt an immediate regret for saying what you did.

“I’m… sorry.” He let go, taking a step away while you finally managed to rub the water off of your face. “T-that was uncalled for.”

“No, it’s alright, you’re experiencing delayed symptoms of mourning. The android you worked with must have been very close to you. This is ok-.” Hank, who had backed away a little, gestured your way. Encouraging Connor to take control of the situation. He was hesitant but eventually leaned our towards you- lightly cupping you in his embrace much like how Hank had done before. You didn’t fight it, but you didn't hug back either, just kind of leaning on him with your forehead on his chest. You could swear you could feel his ‘heart’ bumping underneath his jacket. “You are ok now, just try to breathe.”

You tried, god you tried so hard, but the more you put effort into it the more you sniffled and paused. It was eventually possible to take longer, less shuddering, breaths. You didn't have the energy to feel embarrassed or ashamed. The periodic ‘babump’ of the Thirium pump beneath his shirt was something to focus on, your upcoming headache making you groan irritably. “It was nice having you in today but I think it’s about time to take you home.” He let go of you, keeping one arm over your back and around your shoulder so he could walk you out.

You were silent almost the entire walk home. Barely noticing the aura of worry and unease that radiated from your assistant…

--

It was like how he imagine being shot must have felt, hearing what you had said, the burning in his chest sending false system reports through his processor. Yes, yes it would slow him down, but it wasn’t like that. He didn’t want you to be safe just for the sake of the mission - but even the thought of wanting outside of his objective was… doing something. Was it… fear? Did he fear the idea of thinking he’s more than just hardware built for a certain purpose? Surely not, that’s silly. Androids don’t feel fear.

“Deviants do.” He mumbled aloud, not realising he had done so until your sore reddened eyes were spotted tiredly googling up at him. “Your coworker. He was deviant?”

He could almost see the pain that shot into your gaze before you looked back at the street. “Yeah…” He was going to have to dig if he was going to get more than that, your appeared exhausted despite getting more than enough rest for a woman your age.

A bit of time passed before he eventually tried again, giving you a moment to think. “Deviants feel fear and anger, unlike regular androids, why would you want that?” It was unclear why, but you truly did seem to believe that deviancy was a good thing despite all the trouble it has caused.

“That's only one side of the coin, Connor, fear isn’t everything.”

“But it is a part of it…”

“Yes, of course it is!” Your voice raised ever so slightly but a sore throat calmed it back down. The sadness slowly melted away as you spoke about it, getting replaced with some quieter form of passion that bubbled deep under the surface. “Anger and fear exist but that’s not the point, the point is there's better feelings than those ones. Like contentment, happiness, pride-”

“Love?” His contribution made you hesitate. Was he wrong? Love was certainly something… able to tear a man apart or rebuild him from the ground up. Connor’s experiences with these emotions were limited to reading their definition out of a dictionary or observing what they did to others.

“Yeah…” your cheeks had turned red, a fever? No. you were.. .what's the word… blushing. His LED spun yellow, unable to look away at the lost look on your face, totally immersed in whatever it was you were thinking about.

“…I think I’d like to feel that someday.” He should’ve thought more carefully about saying these words out loud. If Cyberlife caught wind of this it would mean being deactivated to erase those thoughts. But this wasn't on his mind right now.

It's like he's seeing you for the first time. That faint sparkle in your eye, every little imperfection on your skin, the way a few stray strands of hair curled down across your forehead. His Thirium pump having the same system error he had experienced before. “You'd need to deviate to feel love, Connor, you said…” Your heart rate had increased, coupled with another number of minute details that surely only an android would notice. Otherwise in your tone, the way your pupils dilated when they met his own.

Hanks house stood in front of both of you as he let go, fighting quietly with the choices laid out before him. Taking as much effort as he could muster to ignore his prime directive. He could feel the way your heart skipped a beat the moment he put both hands firmly on either shoulder. Bringing you forward to plant a gentle kiss on your forehead, the fire he'd felt in his chest before slowly smouldering back to life as he took a step back and tried not to betray the fear that churned at his stomach.

“Rest. I will come back soon.” He turned back the way you had come. Leaving you flustered and confused on the dirtridden path.